


Tennessee Ham and Strawberry Jam

by saltwaterselkie



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Bruises, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Violence, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Freeform Dixie Chicks, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Goodbye Earl AU, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Joker/Harley is not long for this fic, Kissing, Minor Injuries, Murder, Needles, Poisonquinn - Freeform, Romance, Slow Burn, Small Towns, Swearing, and we all know what Earl had to do, given that Joker's Earl, goodbye earl, harlivy - Freeform, red diamond, wlw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:07:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 67,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23358271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltwaterselkie/pseuds/saltwaterselkie
Summary: When Harley's best friend goes off to college, she finds solace in local bad boy Jack Napier. As the relationship turns sour, Pam proves she'll always be in Harley's corner - however extreme the necessary measures may be.The Goodbye, Earl AU nobody asked for.(fyi: no knowledge of the song is needed to enjoy the fic)
Relationships: Joker (DCU)/Harleen Quinzel, Pamela Isley & Harleen Quinzel, Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel, background Bruce Wayne/Selina Kyle
Comments: 282
Kudos: 396





	1. Harley Quinn and Pammie were the best of friends...

**Author's Note:**

> General plot will follow the song pretty closely - the rest is filled in with DC bits and pieces. Updates Wednesdays/Thursdays and Sundays. Enjoy!

Harley tossed her graduation cap into the air with a whoop of satisfaction, grinning as she watched it spin up in the air next to Pam’s. Harley’s was unadorned but for the normal tassel, brown and gold to match their high school colors; in true Pamela Lillian Isley fashion, Harley’s best friend had taken the opportunity to paint “the solution is less pollution” across the top of hers in shades of blue and green. She’d been banned from doing so by the principal until she’d threatened to take it to the ACLU.

Pam jostled Harley with an elbow and shot a gleaming grin her way. She looked radiant, her deep red hair done up in elegant braids that must’ve taken at least an hour to pin in place. Harley felt rather dumpy in her grad robe, even with the double stoles for 4H and the FFA adorning her shoulders; Pam, on the other hand, pulled the same outfit off with panache. Harley felt an abrupt pain in her chest as Pam winked at her. _There’s a reason you’re going to Atlanta,_ she thought, _while I’m still stuck in Littleton._

As their fellow high school grads spilled out into the audience, Pam and Harley strolled off together. Alone. It was a beautiful spring day, and the ceremonies had been held in the town commons. It was where anything important in Littleton, Tennessee happened: weddings, birthdays, and – _ick,_ Harley thought, as images of balloons and cake sitting next to coffins came to mind – even funerals. A temporary stage had been erected in the middle of the swaths of green grass and dandelions covering the field, plus dozens of folding chairs set up for parents and family.

The graduating class of Littleton High numbered 96 this year. Pam had snagged valedictorian, which was surprising to no one. Her mother had still berated her – and this was what really got Harley – for “only” getting an A- on their physics final, which – get this – affected neither her final grade nor her 4.0 but “shamed the Isley family.” Because she “could’ve done better.”

This was one of the reasons Pam’s shoulders tensed when a call came from behind them as they slipped through the parents and students embracing, taking pictures, and otherwise enjoying graduation. “Pamela!”

Harley watched as Pam steeled herself, then turned around. Her smile was tight and chilled as a glass of mint julep. “Mother. Father.”

Honestly, Harley shouldn’t have been _surprised,_ given her history with Pam and hence her parents, but it was still a shock to see Pam’s dad extend an impersonal hand to his daughter. She gave it a firm shake, then repeated the process with her mother. “Congratulations,” Mrs. Isley said curtly, “to you and Harleen.” She raised a slim eyebrow. “I take it Mr. and Mrs. Quinzel chose not to attend?”

Harley narrowed her eyes. “My mom and dad went back to work, Mrs. Isley. They came for the ceremony.” It was all the time they’d had to spare; Harley had a gaggle of little brothers, and when you made your living hourly and had hungry mouths to feed, well, even a weekend graduation was a hard sell.

She knew they loved her, at least. The same could not be said of Pam’s parents.

“We’ll see you by dinner, Pamela,” Mr. Isley informed her. “We’ll be partaking of salmon in honor of the occasion.”

“Of course, father,” Pam said, voice pinched around the edges. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

<><><>

They walked out towards Lake Wayne together, shedding layers as they went. By the time they’d reached it, their gowns and stoles were slung over their arms. The lake was the reason Littleton had been built here in the first place, hundreds of years ago, when it was just a tiny southern settlement. It was the nicest thing about the town, spreading wide and solemn in front of them, blue-green waters hiding turtles and fish.

At least, it _used_ to hide turtles and fish, before the town dump started charging bigger fees and, accordingly, people began to toss their stuff in the lake instead. Pam kicked a rock towards the lake, swiping back a lock of hair that had escaped her braids as she looked out across the water. “I hate it,” she said quietly.

Harley frowned. “Ah, Red,” she said, “it’s graduation day. I know all that pollution stuff is on your mind – I mean, _literally_ ON your mind, since you wrote it on your damn cap and all – but maybe let yourself loosen up? Just for today.”

Pam clenched her fists. “Yeah. Sorry.” She paused. “It’s the parents.”

“Of course it’s the parents,” Harley said with a sigh. “Basket cases, the both of them.”

“Last night,” Pam said, “they told me I had five days after my eighteenth birthday to move out.”

 _What a dick move_ , Harley thought. She and Pam had both danced around the matter of Pam’s parents often enough growing up. Pam used to blow up at Harley if she so much as mentioned that Mr. and Mrs. Isley might be wrong; it had taken a long time and a whole lotta friendship to convince her that perfectionism ingrained as a way of life wasn’t a healthy legacy for her parents to leave her. Besides, they’d just graduated! Harley could say whatever she wanted. Even if it was against her better nature. 

Rather uncreatively, she announced: “What a dick move. Literally.”

And then promptly cracked up over her own joke.

Pam frowned. “Wha- _oh._ Move. Pun.” She rolled her eyes. “Harley...” Her expression was stern, but there was a twinkle in her eye.

Harley threw her extra layers down in the grass and did a goofy cartwheel. “You love me,” she said, grinning beatifically at Pam. “And I’ll never change, Red. I’m a beam of fuckin’ sunshine and you’re a flower basking in my glow.”

Pam smiled. Then bit her lip, worry furrowing her brow. Harley almost snickered at the expression. At least, until Pam opened her mouth. “Harl? Um… Emory doesn’t open dorms until mid-August.” Pam was one of the most prideful creatures Harley had ever seen on this god-given Earth. She knew almost immediately what her best friend was trying to ask for, albeit in a very roundabout way.

“A June 27th birthday doesn't really line up with an August start date,” Harley filled in. “I know, I know. Yeah, of _course_ you can stay with me in between, Red. You think I’d leave you to fend for yourself on the dangerous streets of Littleton?”

As well as they knew each other, Harley could see that there’d still been a moment of doubt for Pam. As if she wasn’t sure if she would be wanted. Something in Harley’s stomach dropped pleasantly as Pam let her graduation garments fall from her arm and reached out for Harley’s shoulders, drawing her close. From this far away, Harley could smell the faint, earthy scent of Pam, a smell so familiar and comfortable it barely even registered.

Pam’s eyes were grass-green and sparkled in the sunlight. Wisps of her hair haloed her as she held Harley’s gaze. Harley bit her lower lip, breath caught in her throat, as Pam looked her in the eye and said: “Thank you. I really mean it, Harl. I… well.” Pam fell silent. Something thick and heavy settled between them.

God, her eyes were _really_ _green._

With a start, Harley shook herself out of whatever spell had just come over them. Nothing was going to happen like this. Nothing ever could, and she’d be kidding herself if she let herself believe otherwise. This was just a weird moment that she needed to resolve, and she knew exactly how.

“Your parents suck _dick._ ” Harley said, confident of her conversational prowess. Never was an awkward silence more easily broken than in the hands of Harleen Frances Quinzel.

Pam drew back with a laugh, the band of tension between them snapped. She gave Harley the crooked smile reserved specially for her – the smile Mr. and Mrs. Isley would never be privileged enough to see. “Yeah,” she agreed, “yeah, they really do.”

<><><>

The summer went too fast. They both worked jobs at the local mall – Pam in a tiny hippie boutique that Harley was sure must be running drugs under the table to still be afloat, and Harley herself working as a waitress in Littleton’s sole Mexican restaurant, _La Bella Burrito._ Pam’s job was temporary, only until she went off to Emory in the fall. Harley’s job, on the other hand…

As she cleared tables and took orders and juggled unruly platters and customers, Harley hoped to God that it would be temporary, too.

She didn’t want to admit to Pam that the reason she hadn’t applied for schools was because of the money. She knew Pam would try to help out, and then it’d feel like charity, and…

No. She was taking a year. To work and try to save back some extra money for her little brothers. Just enough that they’d be okay if she left and followed Pam to Atlanta or went globetrotting on her lonesome. Then it’d be fine and she wouldn’t feel guilty leaving. Not if she gave them a safety net to remember her by.

Harley sighed, wiped a gob of refried beans off of the end of one of her pigtails, and headed back out into the daunting customer service fray.

<><><>

The day Pam left was one of the saddest in Harley’s life.

“You’ll call, and write, and we’re _not_ losing touch, okay, Red?” Harley was babbling a bunch of gibberish and wasn’t even ashamed about it, that’s how bad she was already missing Pam. And Pam hadn’t even boarded the goddamn bus yet.

“Of course,” Pam said, bending to shove one of her suitcases in the undercarriage. “Harley, you _know_ that won’t happen. We can trust ourselves not to.”

Harley blubbered something embarrassing and was glad it was too muffled to be understood. Pam settled her last piece of baggage into place and stood up, brushing off her front. “Oh, _Red.”_

Pam stared at her intently for a moment too long, then stepped forward and flung her arms around Harley, squeezing her in a hug so tight Harley was briefly worried she might be suffering long-term damage. “ _Love you, petal,”_ Pam whispered in Harley’s ear. So quiet Harley was pretty sure she was imagining it.

“HEY, REDHEAD,” the bus driver called, “GET A MOVE ON!”

Pam drew back, tears sparkling in those green eyes. “Bye, Harley.”

Harley raised a hand to wave as Pam turned and boarded the bus. As it trundled off, Harley just kept waving, watching Pam’s face in the window recede until the bus turned the corner. Out of sight, out of mind.

Pam was getting her bright new world. And Harley was stuck in Littleton. A magical place in which everything stayed exactly the same always and you never found anything new.

She didn’t know that she’d be finding something new soon. Or rather – seated in booth 16 of _La Bella Burrito,_ two weeks and three days into Harley’s future – some _one_.


	2. Harley looked all around this town...

The woman in booth 15 was chattering through her family’s order like she’d be kicked out if she didn’t finish saying it in less than 30 seconds. Harley’s pencil skittered across her order pad, scrawling out the shorthand for the woman’s requests as fast as she possibly could. She still missed the order at the end.

“What was that last one, ma’am?”

The woman let out a long-suffering sigh and repeated herself. “The number 29 with a side of rice and beans instead of the chips.” She tapped her long, bright purple acrylic nails on the table in an impatient tattoo. Harley knew this kind of customer well: thick, dark makeup and eyelash extensions; dangling crystal earrings that Harley would bet her left boot had come from the costume jewelry aisle of Walmart; and an enormous ego only challenged in size by her massive poof of blonde bouffant hair.

Harley scribbled down the final order, pausing before she put in the change to the side. “The beans ‘n’ rice will be a dollar extra,” she informed the woman.

It was not a statement that should’ve inspired sputtering, but the customer went all for it anyway. She whipped her head back and forth, looking to her beefcake of a husband and three mousey children for support. “But it doesn’t say that on the _menu!”_ Bouffant Lady quasi-shrieked.

“Actually,” Harley said, pointing out the statement on the bottom of the menu that clearly stated otherwise, “it does. But I could see how it’s easy to miss!” She gave Bouffant Lady a gleaming smile that was as fake as the woman’s jewelry.

“Fine,” the woman sniffed, “we’ll still do the beans and rice. But we’re expecting prompt service!”

“Of course, ma’am,” Harley soothed, jotting down the final bit of the order. “Only the best at _La Bella Burrito._ ”

She was on her best behavior for booth 15. She’d already given Bouffant Lady’s daughter the wrong drink order, which Harley attributed fully to the fact that she’d gotten distracted when assembling the various sodas and lemonades. It’d been almost exactly two weeks and three days since Pam had left, and when Harley had caught a glimpse of a redheaded passerby on her way back to the kitchen, her mind had flicked back to the texture of _Pam’s_ hair, the soft waves of auburn and red. She blamed that distraction for the switch between Coca Cola and Dr. Pepper for the kid.

It had taken a significant number of apologies to get Bouffant Lady to forgive that particular indiscretion. Harley thought it was the promise that the drink would be on the house that had resolved the issue for good.

Harley swung by the kitchen to hand over the order slip. Booth 16 was next; a group of a couple of guys she hadn’t seen come in before who’d ordered five drinks for four people. They’d told her to bring an extra chair to set at the end of the booth for their friend, who was arriving late. Harley hoped he’d at least be a good tipper – she already got the sense that the rest of them weren’t. Maybe the types of guys who’d stiff her. That wasn’t good. Harley _needed_ her tips, and she was already pretty sure Bouffant Lady wasn’t going to tip 20%.

She assembled the beers on her tray and swept out of the kitchen, heading to booth 16. Ah, the friend had arrived; he sat with his back to her, every other man at the table staring at him like he was a fire and they were moths to the flame. And… did he have _green hair?_

Harley paused next to him. “‘Scuse me,” she said politely.

He turned around.

He was handsome. Damn handsome, with sharp cheekbones and a well-defined jaw. His eyes were dark under his mess of green hair. Somehow, he pulled it off; he should’ve looked like an eggplant, with his violet shirt, green hair, and pale skin, but instead he made something tug in Harley’s stomach that hadn’t gone wild since the last time she’d thought of Pam. It was a feeling that she’d pushed down with Pam, anyway – because Harley knew when to acknowledge that a ship had sailed, and Pam’s schooner had already crossed the horizon.

“Why, hello, beautiful,” he said, and his smile was like nothing Harley had ever seen. He smiled like it was what he’d been put on Earth to do; it stretched almost ear-to-ear, and all she could think was that he’d barely _met_ her and he was already grinning at her like _that._ Like… like she was a diamond.

Harley mutely held out the drinks. She was pretty sure if she tried to speak, all that would come out would be gibberish. And she wanted to give them the drinks and take their order so she could go blush about that smile in secret, because she could already feel a flush rising in her cheeks and good _God_ , she wasn’t ready for this to happen now.

The drinks were distributed. Harley tried to settle her stomach as she asked, “and are you all ready to order?”

“Why, yes…” green-hair looked at her nametag and smiled again. “Harley. I’m Jack, and I’ll be having the number twelve.”

“How about number 69,” one of his friends added, and the whole group tittered as Harley flushed even redder.

“Now, Willy,” Jack chastised, not looking away from Harley, “that’s no way to speak in a lady’s company.”

Harley had to ask two of the men to repeat their orders before she left the table – or tried to. Jack’s fingers brushed her leg as she turned to go. “Harley,” he said, _sotto voce_ , “would you be a dear and bring us something sweet for dessert?”

“What…” Harley paused. No stammering aloud, not even if her leg was still burning (in a good way, maybe?) where he’d touched her. She swallowed. “What do you want?”

“Your choice,” Jack said, dark eyes glimmering. “I trust you.”

Harley understood how the moths felt.

She brought them sopapillas. As she bused booth 15 (which had left her no tip at all, to Harley’s chagrin), he leaned back in his chair so he could see her. Staring at her, he took a bite of one of the sopapillas, drizzled in honey and dusted with powdered sugar, and raised it to her as if in a toast. She expected him to say something, but all he did was turn back to his buddies.

The next time she came out, Jack was gone from booth 16. His friends paid the bill, made a couple of lewd comments that Harley ignored, and left.

As she was clearing the table, collecting the crumpled one-dollar bills and loose change they’d left for tips, she found a Benjamin under Jack’s plate. _A hundred… holy hell_. _Holy_ Hell.

Harley tucked the tip in her front pocket, next to her heart, and hummed her way all through her next shift.

<><><>

That night she wrote out a long email to Pam. They’d been keeping in touch ever since Pam had started at Emory. Pam’s last email to Harley had been full of details about the campus and the people; Harley had been starved for gossip, and Pam had done her best to provide it, explaining that she’d made a few friends in the science department and was still planning to major in biology.

Pam had always loved plants – ever since they’d been younger, she’d had a green thumb like no other. Harley had only passed their botany lab in sophomore year biology because Pam had coaxed her seedling back to life after Harley had nearly murdered it. “Too much watering,” Pam had tutted, “Harley, you’re going to kill it with love.”

Obviously, Pam was doing wonderfully with her classes, though her semester had barely begun. She was taking an overload schedule – trying to graduate in three years, she’d told Harley – so she was busy for sure, but she’d still written to Harley at least once every other day and called on the weekends so far.

Harley missed her like a lost limb.

But today, finally, she had something to say to Pam that was far more interesting than “customer service sucks” and “went to a Shabbat service for the first time since middle school” and “people who don’t tip deserve a bedbug infestation.”

She had the news about Jack.

She tried to be casual about it, but it was hard for Harley to keep her emotions from spilling out onto the page, especially when she was talking to Pam. So the email ended up being longer than her last three combined… oops.

Pam replied almost immediately, her entire message reading as almost overly enthusiastic. Lots of all-caps statements. Classic Pam teasing about crushes and late-teens infatuation. Not much news of her own. She did add at the end that if she finished her homework on time, they could call that night. Harley waited, expectant, by the phone until ten. Her morning shift started at six.

Giving the phone one last longing look, trying not to let herself be too disappointed because _of course_ Pam was busy, she was at _college_ , this was how these things _went_ … Harley went to bed.

<><><>

Jack was at the restaurant in booth 16 when she got there. Harley raised an eyebrow and headed over to him. He was nursing a cup of coffee and looked up when she got to him with a gleam in his eye. “Harley!”

“What are you doing here?” Harley furrowed her brow, confused. She’d never seen him before yesterday, and now here he was, less than 24 hours after she’d first met him.

“Well,” Jack said, “I went home last night and thought, _damn_ , I fucked up. You. Me. Somewhere nice, tonight. I’ll pay.”

Harley blushed a deep red, helpless to stop it. “Why, Jack, you think you can just come in here and…”

He stood up, and she realized suddenly that she’d never seen how tall he was before, and she sucked in a breath, her chest suddenly tight, as his gaze raked over her. He was just… just fucking _roguish_ , that green hair mussed appealingly, those shoulders tilted towards her. He leaned closer. “ _Of course I can_ ,” he said, half-growling, and he kissed her.

His lips were harsh and rough and Harley made a noise in the back of her throat, a little piteous moan of joy, before coming back to herself and pulling away. “ _Jack_ ,” she gasped, heart dancing in her throat as she glanced around the restaurant. Thank goodness nobody was out on the floor but them. “I’m at _work._ ”

“Well, Harl,” he said, and a thrill prickled across her skin as Pam’s nickname for her fell off his lips, “I’m a _customer_ , aren’t I?”

They ended up in the bathroom for a solid five minutes, Jack pressing Harley up to the wall and working his way down her shoulder, leaving hickeys where her uniform would cover them. She felt like she was on fire, every touch of his skin on hers leaving her burning. Little pinpricks of pain matched with pleasure. She would’ve lost track of time completely if he hadn’t been the one to draw back, leaving her wanting more.

“Better get back to work, Harley,” Jack said with a wink, reaching out to rearrange her collar. He pulled her shirt back to where it belonged, covering his own handiwork. “Tonight. I’ll call you. Seems like you need some practice with where to put that tongue, anyway.”

Harley blinked at him, shell-shocked, as he let himself out of the bathroom. She rather vaguely remembered his whispered request for her number as he explored her collarbone, and perhaps even remembered stammering it out herself, but she’d be damned if she could recall _his_ number after an experience like _that_.

With a deep, shuddering breath, eyes still wide, Harley smoothed herself out in the mirror. Thinking about his last comment. Could he really tell she’d never… never kissed a guy? She and Pam had talked about practicing on each other, once when they were both little, but they’d never actually done it. Not after… the _incident_ with Pam’s parents.

Brushing her lips with the tips of her fingers, Harley left the bathroom.

Jack was gone. He’d left money for his check on his table. Harley half expected to be caught by her manager or even Dani, the cook, who knew her better than anyone else in _La Bella Burrito_. But… nothing happened.

She went through the rest of the day in daze, met Jack that night, and learned how to do with her tongue what he did with his.

Pam’s most recent email sat unread in Harley’s inbox.


	3. And all she found...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umm... this story is spiraling a little (in a good way). Expect it to be longer than anticipated. The only problem this is posing for me is having enough lyrics to use for chapter titles. Oops.

Harley got to work late.

It was only the second time it had happened, but _La Bella Burrito_ had a fairly strict attendance policy, and if she was tardy again, she would be terminated. _This needs to be a wake-up call_ , Harley thought firmly. _No more late nights at Jack’s house_.

Honestly, Jack – no, Jay, he’d asked her to call him Jay last night as they sat on his couch eating Chinese takeout – Jay was a perfect gentleman. He hadn’t pushed Harley into anything too fast, and most of their late nights early on were just spent with him talking and her listening. He had so many ideas, so many interesting thoughts spinning around in his green-topped head. Harley had fleetingly thought last night that perhaps she had a thing for green.

But regardless of the nature of their late-night activities, they were late-night nevertheless. Meaning Harley had had a hard time dragging herself out of bed to get to work these last few weeks.

She didn’t feel as guilty about work as she did about Pam. As Harley’s relationship with Jay had progressed at the speed of light, her emails to Pam had gotten shorter and shorter. A bit of a catalyst for Harley had been when Pam was so busy in this lab or that that she hadn’t called the day of Harley’s eighteenth birthday.

That night, she’d headed to Jay’s, rage burning in her chest.

“She _never_ forgets,” she’d ranted to Jay, “and she didn’t forget this time, it was just her _prioritizing_ school over me! It could’ve been a quick call. Could’ve been like five minutes, or something, and she didn’t even have that much time for me! For my BIRTHDAY! I let her live with me for two fucking MONTHS and she didn’t have time for my FUCKING BIRTHDAY!”

“Eighteen, right?” Jay asked, sliding his hands around her waist, “the big one-eight?”

“Yeah,” Harley said, still fuming. “Yeah, and she didn’t even… I just want to…”

“How about,” Jay said, leaning close to her, “we say, for tonight, _fuck Pammie?”_ He kissed her before she could say anything, then drew back again, punctuating his words with burning touches down her front. “How about,” he slipped his hands up the front of her shirt, “you and me,” his thumbs traced circles on her abdomen, “ _commemorate_ ,” his palms cupped her bra, “this _fantastic fucking occasion_ ,” she raised her arms so he could take her shirt off, and he kissed her again, pressing her up against the backboard, “ _all by ourselves._ ”

That night was their first time. It hurt, a little – Harley had expected that, though it was more of a pinching feeling than she’d anticipated – but mostly it was her fingers pressing into Jay’s back, and Jay’s fingernails digging into hers, and as it happened, for the first time, Harley stopped thinking about Pam.

All she could think about was Jay.

The next morning, Harley woke up to twelve missed calls from Pam. Twelve messages, too, ranging from 9pm the night before to around midnight. Harley had been at Jay’s since eight. “ _Happy birthday, sunflower._ ” “ _I noticed you’re not picking up, daisy, I’m really sorry, okay? Harl, please answer me. I know I missed the earlier call time, but I promise, I’m trying.” “Happy Birthday again, Harley, I hope you get this message. Maybe there’s something wrong with the phone…”_ Dial tone.

Sure, Harley felt a little bad about it. But it had mostly been Pam’s fault. How could Harley have known she was going to call later?

Harley ignored the whole situation the next time she emailed Pam, and Pam took the hint from her and didn’t mention it again. Harley’s present arrived from Georgia the next day – a pair of her own jean shorts, apparently swiped from her drawer while Pam had been staying over. It was a pair Pam would’ve known Harley wouldn’t need until the summer came around again. Harley had complained once, sometime in July of this year, that they were too bland.

Pam had embroidered a pattern of black and red diamonds across the back pockets. The same pattern Harley had picked out when they were little as the one she was gonna get a tattoo of someday. It was a painstaking piece of work; Harley couldn’t imagine how Pam had found the time to do it, in between the plethora of other things she was always attending or writing or working on. Pam had even added a little heart on the front of the shorts, a tiny P+H embroidered inside of it.

_Oh my God_ , Harley thought, holding up the shorts as tears gathered in her eyes, _she hasn’t been the dick._ I’ve _been the dick._

_Technically, Jay’s been the dick_ , the juvenile part of Harley’s brain snickered, and she rolled her eyes and pushed away the thought.

She wrote an email to Pam – an apology, a promise to do better in the future, a real emotional bomb of an email – and hovered the mouse over the _send_ button. Wincing, she pressed it.

Pam had always forgiven Harley too easily. It was convenient, but paradoxically, sometimes Harley wondered if Pam should be standing up for herself more. Even if it meant Harley had to deal with a bit more emotional torment.

The emails and the calls were better after that, though Harley could’ve sworn Pam’s voice got a few degrees colder after Harley finally broke and told her she’d been sleeping with Jay. That, at the very least, had been unexpected; Harley was at least thinking she’d get some girl-talk squealing.

“The night you turned eighteen?”

Harley frowned at the phone, then realized what Pam was implying. “Oh my _god_ , Pam, of _course_ he’s not being a fucking creep about it! He’d never even taken off my shirt before then, you know!”

The line was silent for a moment. Then: “How old is he, Harl?”

Harley rolled her eyes. “I don’t see what that’s…”

“Harley?”

“Fine,” Harley burst out, “I don’t know. He’s mature. Maybe he’s twenty?” Okay, so maybe it was a little weird that she didn’t know how old he was. He had a sort of… timeless quality. But then again, that was Harley’s business. She could date whoever she wanted.

“Hmm,” Pam said noncommittally, and Harley could practically feel the judgement emanating from the other side of the line.

“How’s that lab job going?” Harley piped up, deciding at once to change the subject instead of dealing with her discomfort. “With… Woody Harrelson or something?”

“Woodrue,” Pam corrected, just as Harley had wanted her to. “Professor Woodrue.” Her voice took on that sort of dreamy timbre that Harley had come to associate with this professor dude. “Harley, did you know that just last week he successfully created a mouse-gardenia hybrid? I mean, the test subject didn’t live beyond a few days, but the DNA integration was entirely complete! The…”

Harley tuned out to the scientific details after that. It really wasn’t her area of expertise. _Pam_ was her area of expertise, and listening to her voice was soothing as hell. It was also exactly what Harley needed right now. Pam was among the final pool of applicants for a job as Dr. Woodrue’s lab assistant – the only freshman to make it to the interview stage out of all of the Emory students applying.

“Anyway,” Pam was saying as Harley started listening to her words again, “I’m tired all the time, but I swear it’ll be worth it if I get this position. Harley… this man could revolutionize the way we combine biological and botanical theorems. He… he said he was very impressed with my coursework thus far. He didn’t seem to mind that I was from Littleton.”

That struck Harley the wrong way, though she knew Pam didn’t mean it to. As if Littleton was a place to be ashamed of? What did that say about Harley now, when Harley still _lived_ here? Knowing before she said it that she shouldn’t – and even so, just wanting to _hurt_ Pam a little, because Littleton and Jay were all Harley _had_ right now – she spoke. The words came out harsher than she wanted. “Well, Pammie, do you know how _old_ your darling Professor Woodrue is?”

She realized after a heartbeat of silence that she’d used Jay’s nickname for Pam. And after another heartbeat that perhaps she’d gone too far. Another heartbeat, and Harley realized, with a sick feeling in her stomach, that she might’ve just introduced to Pam the concept that if she got the job, it’d only be because she was the most attractive young lady to come out of the entirety of Littleton, if not Wayne County as a whole, in a few decades – not because she had a mind to rival Einstein’s.

“Harleen Quinzel, I resent that implication,” Pam said icily, and for the first time since they’d been calling, she hung up as an apology began to form on Harley’s lips.

<><><>

The very next day, after Harley’s shift at _La Bella Burrito_ , she hauled herself to Jay’s house feeling like a racehorse who’d been forced to run a marathon at full gallop. She dragged herself into the shower and washed spilled hot sauce out of her hair, headed to the bedroom, and flopped onto the mattress, bedraggled and exhausted.

Jay appeared in the bedroom door a few hours later. She didn’t know much about where he worked – just that he got money from somewhere, enough to hit on waitresses he didn’t know with hundred-dollar tips and own his little cabin-house at the edge of the city outright. “Harley,” he announced, “you’re taking off work tomorrow.”

She didn’t have enough energy left to protest it. She got to her feet, somehow – she’d been cooking their dinners since a few weeks ago – and prepped a quick meal. She thought about telling him she was too tired when he flicked off the light and took her to bed, but he was so eager she decided it wasn’t worth it.

<><><>

Harley woke up feeling immensely better, sunlight streaming through the windows and birds chirping outside. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been able to sleep in.

Jay was cooking breakfast shirtless, whistling as he fried up some eggs. He glanced at Harley as she yawned and grinned at her, running a hand through his green hair. “Harley! You’re up, sleepyhead!”

“Breakfast?” Harley said with a sleepy smile.

“Just the way you like it,” Jay said with a wink, “because today is a very special day.”

Harley got to her feet and headed to his closet. She kept some of her clothes here – she’d been staying over enough that it was only practical. She slipped on a nice black blouse and blue jeans, then ambled over to the kitchen counter and leaned forward over it. “How old are you, Jay?”

He threw back is head and laughed, then pointed the spatula at her. “Never ask a lady her age, Harley.”

“No, really,” she pushed, “I won’t care.” She spun a lock of hair around her finger. He didn’t open his mouth. Harley rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically. “Come _on_ , Jay.”

He frowned. “Is it that important to you?”

She leaned forward a little more and kissed him in response. He softened as she pulled back. “Fine. I’m somewhere between 26 and 29 and you’ll get no more from me on that.” The corners of his eyes had stopped crinkling like they normally did when he smiled, and suddenly Harley wanted desperately to distract him from what she’d asked.

She walked her fingers up his chest. “So… why is today a special day?”

“You’ll see,” said Jay, the crinkles returning as he scooped the eggs onto a plate and offered it up to her. “Whaddaya say we go take a walk?”

<><><>

It wasn’t really a proposal – not properly, because they got married the same day. It was Wayne Lake first, where he knelt next to an old wooden bench – knee not touching the muddy ground, as Jay was conscientious of his clothes – and offered her the ring. She’d said yes before she realized it, and then he was spinning her around, lifting her up and twirling like she weighed nothing. And yeah, Harley was small – she’d almost gone pro, training as a gymnast, ‘cept it got too expensive and she’d had to drop it so she could take on the _Bella Burrito_ job instead – but in his arms, she felt like air.

Second, he took her to a local thrift store, where they wandered through the aisles, giggling at each other, until they found a secondhand wedding dress that fit her okay save for the fact that it was a little loose around the hips. “ _It won’t matter,”_ Jay whispered in her ear as they checked out, “ _since I’ll be tearing it off you tonight._ ”

Third, they went to the Wayne County Clerk’s office, paid a twenty-nine dollar fee, and left with a marriage license.

Harley was married. Oh _fuck_ , she was _married._

Married at eighteen to Jack Napier after a little more than a month of making out and sleeping together.

And – oh god, it had been such a whirlwind that she hadn’t really thought about it – she hadn’t told her family.

Jay made her forget about it that night, when her wedding dress really _did_ come off with a good amount of tearing involved. It was a little rougher than normal, but they were _married_ now, and any residual shame Harley had felt in the aftermath of premarital sex was gone completely. They’d do a ceremony later, Jay promised her just before his mouth crashed into hers. On her family’s terms – the same quasi-Jewish celebrations her mother and father had been married by, if she wanted. And then Harley’s memory somewhat dissolved into what was happening with his mouth and, in particular, his tongue.

It was only after, when they were lying in the dark, the remains of Harley’s wedding dress on the floor and Jay’s arms wrapped around her possessively, that Harley realized she hadn’t had time to tell Pam.


	4. ...was Jay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I know it's a weird title forgive me. I'm making these lyrics stretch for all they're worth. In other news I'm pushing 32,000 words written... so expect lots of good things :)

_I GOT THE JOB!_

Harley perked up immediately, hand already going for the phone. She and Jay had been “honeymooning,” as much as one could honeymoon in Littleton, Tennessee – meaning she’d gotten the week off work and they’d been tearing up the town, and the next town over, and the next one too – and Harley had an answering machine full of missed calls from her parents and Pam.

The longer Harley had gone without sending a message to Pam, the longer she’d procrastinated on it. She’d only felt guiltier and guiltier, thinking about Pam anxiously checking her inbox and her phone. Thinking about Pam running her hand through her long red hair in that anxious tic of hers, mussing it with a remarkable precision that somehow left her looking more put-together after she was done. It got a sort of artfully ruffled look that Harley had always thought was damn— _no._ _Stop. No thinking about things like that, Harley, you’re a married woman._

Jay was good at distracting Harley, though. She never felt guilty on their honeymoon nights. Never thought about long red hair and green eyes, either. Or at least, not as much.

But the topic line of that email was enough to jolt Harley into action. That was all the text of the email said, too. Harley wasn’t sure if it was her own self-interest that told her to call now, knowing any residual resentment from not contacting Pam for a week would be subsumed by Pam’s joy over the position – but she decided it didn’t really matter and dialed the number anyways.

As the phone rang, she padded out to the porch in her pajamas. It was early-ish in the morning; Harley always woke before Jay, a habit working at _La Bella Burrito_ had instilled in her, and he was still snoring in the master bedroom, immersed in rumpled sheets. Harley glanced at her wedding ring. It glinted in the light of the morning sun, a simple, thin band of gold with an inset diamond.

The porch of the little cabin was old but nice, with a rocking chair that Jay had claimed had been in his family for generations, scout’s honor. Harley didn’t quite believe it. The chair bore a suspicious resemblance to one she’d seen at IKEA the last time she’d been in a big city, scouting out furniture for the boys’ rooms. They hadn’t been looking for furniture at IKEA, but at thrift stores, many of which had a better selection than anything you could find in Littleton. But Harley had heard tales of the majesty of IKEA, and she’d begged off helping her parents for an hour to go exploring with Pam, who’d tagged along.

Pam’s parents didn’t usually mind when Pam joined Harley on expeditions, so long as Pam was back home by the designated curfew. IKEA had been an exception, though – one of the first times they’d let Pam out of the town, “unsupervised,” as they called it (even though Harley’s parents were there the whole time) since the incident.

Before the incident, they hadn’t cared at all. Pam hadn’t even had a curfew.

Harley shook the memory out of her mind and sat in the damn rocking chair.

With a click, Pam picked up.

Harley didn’t hesitate. “ _Congratu-fucking-lations!”_ she half-shouted at Pam from miles and miles away.

Pam was already giggling, a delighted, pure giggle that seemed to bubble up out of her like she couldn’t do anything to stop it. Harley loved that laugh; Pam was all too serious, sometimes, and in Harley’s opinion, seriousness was a curse that needed lifting. Harley was very good at lifting curses.

“ _Harley_ ,” Pam gushed, her voice exuding excitement. “I wasn’t sure you’d call! Oh, my _God_ , he chose _me_ of all people! I’m starting as soon as my paperwork goes through!”

The conversation wasn’t particularly rational for a solid few minutes after that. It was mostly squealing and excitement and Pam talking about the projects Woodrue had already laid out. From what Harley could gather, it seemed that his expectations for what she’d be doing were high but doable. “Oh,” Pam said, faltering briefly, “um… I’m still coming back for Fall Break, but… he asked me to stay on campus over Winter Break to do some extra work. Don’t be mad?”

Harley almost spat it out before she could think about it – almost told Pam, “not to worry, I’ve got Jay!” – but something stopped her. Instead, she thought her way around the words, shaping them carefully as they came out of her mouth. “Well,” she said, “it’s a wonderful opportunity, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but I know we’ve both been looking forward to Fall Break and seeing each other for the holidays, and—”

“I’m not upset, Pam.”

The line was silent for a moment. “Are you sure?”

Harley laughed. “Pam, it’s gonna be amazing for you! Besides, I won’t be lonely.” Now was as good a time as ever to break the news, Harley decided. “Um… Jay and I got hitched.”

She’d thought the line was silent for too long before. Now, though… now was a whole ‘nother thing.

Pam took a deep breath. Let it out. Then said, louder than Harley would’ve hoped, “you did _what?”_

Harley decided not to tell Pam it had happened a week ago. It’d likely only exacerbate things, she told herself. “Pam, let’s stay excited! Woodrue picked you, _you_ , out of everyone else, and now you don’t have to worry about me being all alone here! You know, you haven’t even met Jay. You’ll see during Fall Break. He’s so sweet, Pam, and brave, and sometimes he makes me breakfast…”

“Harley…” Pam paused, then sighed. “Fine.” Her tone was still curt, and maybe a little icy. What the hell? She hadn’t even _met_ Jay. And then… for a moment Harley considered it. Could Pam be _jealous?_

No, that was impossible. If anything, it was _friendship_ jealousy. Pam was just a little sour Harley had met someone. After all, if the emails were anything to go by, not a single friendship Pam had developed so far at Emory came close to the depth of the one she shared with Harley. The one Harley still – despite the Jay situation and the marriage and whatnot – shared with her.

“Fine,” Pam said, a little softer. Almost as if she could sense what Harley was thinking over the phone. Maybe she knew her that well. It wasn’t impossible. “I trust you to know what you’re doing, Harl. And I’m glad Winter Break will work out for us both.” There was that familiar spark in her voice again. “Oh, _Harley_ , I can’t stop thinking about this _job_.”

“You’re fangirling over plant bits in a lab,” Harley deadpanned, “and it’s the most in-character thing you could possibly be doing, Pam-a-lamb. How’re classes?”

Pam started in on a description of the midterms approaching all too quickly, and Harley pulled her knees up to her chest, pinning the phone between her shoulder and her ear as she adjusted. And just as she was about to grab it again…

Someone else took it, his hand reaching over her shoulder to snatch it.

Harley frowned. “ _Jay,”_ she whispered, “ _give it back.”_ She could still hear Pam chattering on the other end of the line, unaware that anything had changed.

He narrowed his eyes. “Talking to _Pammie_ again? I thought this honeymoon was supposed to be for _us.”_

Harley extended her hand, glaring at him. “ _It is, of course it is, but I’m talking to my best friend, Jay!”_ she hissed.

He hovered his finger over a button, raising an eyebrow. “But I’m hungry, Harley. Isn’t it time to make breakfast, _honey?”_ The last word didn’t sound like how _honey_ should’ve sounded. He made it sound like it had an edge.

She noticed what button it was and reached out to stop him, mouth already forming the words “don’t you dare.” She only caught a final, clipped phrase. Pam’s voice over the phone rang out querulously. Maybe she’d heard Jay. Maybe she’d just noticed how long it had been since Harley had spoken. “ _Harley, are you still—”_

Jay hung up.

<><><>

Pam stared at the phone, dumbfounded.

And then made a noise of disgust in the back of her throat and put it to the side, trying to press down the rising sadness in her chest. She set the phone down carefully and moved to her desk, feet padding quietly on the floor. She’d been given a single her freshman year at the request of her parents, who had sent a formal letter to Emory’s housing office.

Pam would’ve much preferred a double, or a triple, maybe. Even though she enjoyed her own company, a roommate would’ve been an opportunity for a brand-new friend. The fact that her parents still didn’t trust her with a double was just proof to Pam that they hadn’t forgotten _it_. That _it_ was still fresh in their minds, and they weren’t going to be paying for her school just so Pam could go off and forget all the lessons they’d taught her.

 _At the very least,_ Pam thought, scooping her books into her backpack and unwrapping a banana to eat on the go, _they_ are _paying for it._

Mrs. Isley had taught her daughter well when it came to presenting oneself as a genuine lady. She would’ve been scandalized to see Pam go swishing out the door, backpack slung over one shoulder, without even foundation to cover her freckles. Pam had gained mastery of makeup as early as sixth grade and thoroughly hated it by seventh. As soon as she knew her mother couldn’t keep an eye on her, she’d started wearing messy braids and ponytails, rejoicing in the lack of precision.

Maybe that was why she liked plants so much. Plants and dirt. No matter how you tried, you couldn’t make them perfect. An image came to her mind unbidden – Harley with a dollop of mud on her nose, clowning around in Pam’s backyard. Sunlight, dust motes, a laugh in Pam’s stomach so deep she felt it in her ribs.

She pushed it away, a bitter taste in her mouth. Sure, it still meant something, but she wasn’t in the mood for remembering the happy times. At least, not right now.

Classes were distracting, but not enough so that Pam could stop thinking about Harley. That dial tone. She’d thought Harley would’ve at least had the decency to say goodbye. Pam found herself clenching her pencil, not taking notes on chemistry as she should’ve been. She brought herself back to the present with a stern internal admonition. _Come on, Pamela, don’t dwell._

Last night she’d had a dream about Harley. Even thinking about it brought a blush to Pam’s cheeks. Maybe that was why today’s events had felt like a betrayal. Why Harley’s abrupt end to their conversation had stung more than it should’ve. When last night she’d dreamed—

Pam found herself biting her lip, hand slack against her paper, and frowned, directing her attention back to the board. She’d missed something about rate laws. Nothing she couldn’t piece together alone after class, but she couldn’t keep doing this. She had to _focus._

She stumbled on her way out of her last class of the day, one of the final students to leave the classroom, and a hand reached out, steadied her. Pam looked up.

“Oh,” she said, shifting awkwardly back on her heels, “Professor Woodrue!”

He was tall, with long, skinny limbs and a mass of salt-and-pepper hair extending in tufts from his scalp. The perfect mad scientist look. He was still wearing his lab coat, the entire thing covered in dust and dirt. “I was looking for you, Miss Isley,” he said, smiling sharply at her. “Checked into your course schedule.”

“I wanted to thank you for the position,” Pam said, straightening up and drawing her shoulders back. “You won’t regret picking me.”

“I wouldn’t expect so,” Woodrue said, something sparkling in his eyes. “You’ve put your paperwork in?”

“I turned it in after lunch, Professor,” Pam confirmed.

“Wonderful.” He turned on his heel and started striding off down the hall, clearly assuming she’d follow. “Let’s get you familiar with the laboratory situation, then, Miss Isley. If that’s amenable to you.”

She fell into step behind him eagerly, footsteps ringing together with his as they walked down the hall. “Of course,” she said, wondering if her excitement was palpable. “I’m so excited to learn side-by-side with a master! I’m sure working with you on this experiment will be a truly transformative experience, Professor.”

She couldn’t see his face, but she could feel him smiling.

<><><>

Harley seethed at Jay all the way through the afternoon. She’d made breakfast for him, after all that – eggs over easy and toast slathered with a healthy serving of butter – but when she brought the plate over to the table, she slammed it down in front of him.

He finally piped up a little after three, when she was sitting on the couch watching reruns of a show she didn’t care about, arms crossed and mouth set in a terse line. He’d gone away in the late morning and had only been back for a little while. She could see him in her peripheral vision, leaned up with one arm propped against the open bedroom door. “Harley, baby, I’m sorry.”

She didn’t look at him. Just, very intentionally, pulled a chip out of the bag in front of her and chomped down on it, staring at the screen.

He approached with the air of a matador provoking a particularly angry bull. “Harley…”

“You had no right,” Harley snapped. “She’s my friend.”

Jay sighed, flopping down on the couch next to her. “You’re right, of course,” he said. “I’m sorry. I am really, genuinely sorry. You know I get jealous sometimes.” He reached out and started rubbing his thumb in circles on the inside of her thigh. “It’s just because I care about you, Harl,” he said, voice curling protectively over the nickname. “You’re the only one for me. Hell, you’re my fucking _wife_ now.”

As much as she was resisting it – or trying – she could feel her resolve faltering. His hand moved steadily up her thigh. “I know it wasn’t right of me,” he continued. “I just… I love you so damn much, Harley.”

The nagging guilt at what had happened to Pam, at what _Harley_ had allowed to happen to Pam, subsided. He leaned towards her and kissed her, softly.

And she kissed him back.


	5. Well it wasn't two weeks after she got married...

Pam felt like a robot.

Wake up. Class. Lunch. Class. Woodrue’s lab. Dinner. Homework. Rinse and repeat.

Woodrue’s lab was what really got her through every day. It was all she’d dreamed it would be; he had her doing assays and zebrafish breeding now, but he’d promised her it wouldn’t be long until she was doing the genetic engineering herself. She had a better understanding of toxicity and aposematic genetic properties than most of his graduate students. Or at least, so he’d said.

Sometimes, he lingered next to her as she worked, watching her approvingly. It made her chest swell with pride. He’d often talk to her about his research as she worked; she absorbed his words and knowledge like a sponge, integrating his theories into her own understanding of the processes they were enacting. Rarely – because usually Pam didn’t need correcting – he would correct the way she was laying out the assays with a gentle touch before moving on through the lab.

There were three other students working with him, all at the graduate level, and that was it. Woodrue’s lab was notoriously selective. He had told Pam as soon as she’d started that any communication about the specific research and breakthroughs in his lab outside of it, even to the other girls, was grounds for immediate termination of her position.

There used to be four other girls, all graduate students. One, a young woman named Zelda Higgins, had apparently told her boyfriend that Woodrue was working with zebrafish. It shouldn’t have been an issue, given that zebrafish were a model organism used by so many professors at the collegiate level, but even that much had been enough to open up a spot for Pam.

“I heard she had to drop out before she got her Master’s,” one of the other graduate students had whispered. “She was only here for his graduate program. We haven’t seen her since he booted her out.”

While the graduate students often worked with each other in the lab, Pam’s hours varied drastically with her day-to-day course schedule, and she often found herself handling late nights at the lab. Woodrue usually stayed back in his office until she left. His presence was mildly comforting; he was far from a doddering old professor, though she knew he was solidly middle-aged, and it helped that she could ask him if she needed to double-check a procedure.

It was on one of those nights that Woodrue came out from his office, door clicking shut behind him, and came over to the rat cages. She was going through and distributing food pellets, setting them on the tops of the cages where the rats could gnaw at them through the wire.

“Fascinating creatures, aren’t they?”

She looked over her shoulder at him and grinned. “Yes, Professor. More fascinating when we introduce the new genes, of course, but organisms in general...”

Woodrue looked at her as if thinking deeply. Contemplatively. That was the word. “Of course,” he said, “that complexity is nothing in the face of a human being.”

Pam dropped another handful of food down the line of cages. “I personally find plants to be underrated in that regard,” she added, brushing her hands off and heading to the sink. “Aspen, oak, kudzu, strangler fig, poison ivy,” she shrugged as she washed her hands. “So many iterations of so many botanical masterpieces.”

“Masterpiece,” he said softly, drumming his fingers against the metal of one of the cages in a slow rhythm. His eyes were still on her when she turned around, though she felt as if they almost looked _through_ her. To something she couldn’t see.

It unsettled her.

“I need to go home, Professor,” she said brightly, trying to defuse whatever unwelcome tension had developed.

“Hmm…” he said, “yes, you do that. I’m staying a bit longer. I’ve got some ideas to work through, I think.”

She hung up her lab coat and threw on her jacket as he headed back towards his office, new purpose in his step. He paused before passing the doorjamb. “Oh,” he said absently, glancing back over his shoulder, “Pamela?”

“Yes?” It was strange to hear her name on his lips – her first name, that is, not Miss Isley.

“We’re going to get closer, working in the same space, I’d imagine,” he commented, “so you can call me Jason, if you’re comfortable doing so.”

She was not particularly comfortable doing so.

His gaze prickled her back as she left. She tried to convince herself it was an overreaction. Tried not to dignify the discomfort in her stomach with acknowledgement.

But it was hard, when she thought of the way he’d looked at her. For the first time since she’d started working in his lab, she’d felt more like a piece of meat than a student.

She wondered if it was the first time he’d looked at her like that, or simply the first time she’d noticed.

<><><>

“Yeah, Ma,” Harley said, slowly drawing her hand out from behind her back. She raised her hand and wiggled the finger with the ring, grinning sheepishly. “We got married.”

They were sitting in _Old Town Bar-B-Q_ , the number one restaurant in town according to Harley’s father and his meat tooth. (Like a sweet tooth, but for meat.) The atmosphere of the place was attempting to be Western but just felt like someone had poured a bunch of sawdust, cowboy hats, and wild horse motifs into a restaurant-maker and called it a day.

Harley had to admit, though, that the meat was damn good.

She was sitting across the horseshoe-themed booth from her parents, Jay’s arm slung casually over her shoulders. Their order hadn’t come yet, and Harley had assumed that the best time to break the news – for her father, at least – was before his ribs arrived. That way, there would be a surefire distraction of a positive nature if things went south.

And things seemed to be going a little south.

“Harley,” her mother said, hands splayed against the table, “no offense to your… young man, but may I remind you that we didn’t have the pleasure of making his acquaintance before,” she gestured at the tableau of Harley and Jay, pursing her lips, “all this?”

“And that’s my bad, Ma,” Harley said. “It was a bit of a fantastical romance,” she grinned up at Jay. “It’s not Jack’s fault that I couldn’t find a good time for him to drop by.”

An entirely magnanimous apology that she didn’t think was particularly necessary. Yeah, sure, she understood that her parents should’ve been introduced to Jay a little sooner. But she was an adult, and besides, she couldn’t help it now. Plus, he’d paid for babysitters for the boys while they were out, and he was paying for the meal, too. Couldn’t they tell she’d picked a good one?

“I s’pose we understand,” her father said, smoothing his hands over his belly. He always looked tired enough to sleep for a day. Harley realized with a pang that she wouldn’t be sending them the amount she usually did from her next _Bella Burrito_ paycheck, not with the honeymoon week off.

Jay had suggested she take another week, but she’d gone back to work on Monday. It was Tuesday now; she decided she’d try to pick up some extra shifts to make up for the lapse.

Jay could charm the pants off a priest when he was trying. Right now he was at low-level charisma – not pulling all the stops, but certainly not slacking off. Harley elbowed him under the table. He got the hint.

“I must say, you all seem like a real bootstrap family,” Jay said, smile sliding easily across his face. “I’m so impressed by the work ethic I see in Harley. You know, that down-to-earth quality, that good ol’ fashioned stick-to-itiveness – that’s one of the reasons I love her.” He reached for Harley’s hands and laced his fingers with her, staring at her… _adoringly?_

That was strange. Usually when he looked at her it was with the sharp glint of total rapture. Because he loved her like an obsession; he’d said as much to her before. Harley had thought more than once: _our love’s special. Our love’s different._ But adoration was not in the realm of Harley and Jay. Which meant he was putting on his mask.

She didn’t usually like it when that mask went on, in part because she had a hard time telling when it was up and when it wasn’t. Even as his wife (and goddamn, that word still felt strange on her tongue). _Sure, it’s a bit of a white lie,_ Harley thought, considering, _but I suppose if it brings Ma and Pops around to the whole idea of Jay…_

She might bring it up later. Maybe. But for now, she let him charm how he was going to charm and backed him up on it.

As it turned out, the ribs were an unnecessary bonus for her father. He and Ma took the news as the Quinzels took most things these days, like an unplanned pregnancy or an unexpected bill: in stride.

“You be good to her,” Harley’s father said, leaning back and stifling a burp as he set his last bone down on the plate, picked clean. He pointed a finger at Jay. “And I’m being serious, now.”

“Harley,” Ma said, running a hand over her sleek hair, shot through with streaks of silver. It was pulled back in a bun. She’d dressed up nice for the occasion. “We _do_ have something to talk about with you.” Her gaze flickered to Jay.

Harley could feel his hand tense on her thigh, where it had crept after he’d finished his meal. She tried to defuse. “C’mon, Ma, Jay’s perfectly trustworthy. He’s part of the family, now. Anything you can say in front of me, you can say in front of your son-in-law.”

Harley’s father shrugged. “All right, then. Harley, we’re moving out of Littleton.”

Suffice to say, Harley was stunned.

The details of most of the conversation trickled into her mind after a lag. Harley’s father had gotten an offer to be the construction supervisor for a small business just starting up in Smallville, all the way in Kansas. They wanted an experienced worker for the job, and an experienced worker he was. Ma had looked into it, and Smallville would likely have about an equivalent amount of jobs for her to fit in to her electrician’s schedule.

“We’d thought you would go with us,” Ma said, “but…”

“Of course we’ll be staying in Littleton,” Jay interrupted, fingers tightening around Harley’s thigh. “We’ve got stability here.”

“Oh, I’d assumed so,” Harley’s mother said with a sorrowful little laugh. “As soon as I saw that ring.”

“When are you going?” Harley stammered out.

“This Friday,” her father said apologetically. “It was a take-it-or-leave-it deal. We tried getting ahold of you last week, but you didn’t pick up or drop by the house.” Harley winced, thinking of the answering machine back at Jay’s place, chock-full of messages. “We’d thought you could follow us out there,” her father said, “after you gave your two-week notice.”

You could’ve heard a penny drop. Or, given the theme of the restaurant, a horse whinny.

“My gosh, look at the time,” Jay interjected. Harley wasn’t sure if she should be grateful to him for giving her a chance to get out of this situation or mad that he wasn’t giving her a second to consider what she wanted to do. “I do think we have to get going, Mr. and Mrs. Quinzel, although I must say it was a great honor to meet the people who created such a fine young woman.” He looked at Harley with soft eyes. Another mask; her relationship with Jay was all fire and risks that made her stomach leap with something akin to joy or perhaps addiction. There was no softness hiding behind his smiles.

She didn’t look away from him. “Yeah,” she said, “Ma, Pops, I’ll call you about picking my stuff up.” Her gaze flickered to them, and there was something that caught Harley’s attention in her mother’s eye.

When Harley was eleven and a daredevil – not that she’d stopped being a daredevil, but back when she hadn’t cared how many knees she skinned or what percentage of her skin was covered with band-aids – she’d set up a makeshift ramp in the street outside her house. That was back when Harley was just getting to know Pam, and Harley wouldn’t mince words: she’d been showing off. Something had told Little Harley that stacking four old crates in a row to jump over was a doable feat – and that any knocks and bruises gained in the course of the attempt might be worth it, if the pretty redhead watching was the type to kiss away booboos.

Scratch that. Of course she hadn’t been thinking that way; she’d just been… well, it had been a normal summer and Harley was up to her normal shenanigans. She’d strapped on her helmet, set up at the end of the street, and started pedaling.

The jump came up on her fast, and she felt her heart pound a quick tattoo in her chest. A car turned in at the end of the street; the Quinzel family’s battered old sedan, Harley’s Ma at the wheel. A glance to the curb said Pamela Isley was watching, biting her lip with her chin propped on her knees. Harley’s resolve solidified.

Her mother braked just as Harley took to the air.

She knew as soon as her tires left the ground that she wasn’t going to make it. The world seemed to slow down, and Harley met her Ma’s eyes through the windshield. Even from where she flew, she could see in Ma’s expression that they both knew how this was going to end. Harley was headed for disaster. And no matter what happened afterwards – the broken arm, the staunch refusal to cry in front of Pam, the cast signed with a “P” and an ivy leaf trailing off with a flourish that might have kinda maybe made it worth it – Harley had never forgotten her mother’s face.

Something about the press of Ma’s lips and the wrinkles at the corner of her eyes reminded Harley about that moment now, as she tightened her own grip around Jay’s arm. That expression of a mother watching her daughter about to pull an Icarus.

Harley blinked, and the impression was gone.

They got up, said their goodbyes, and parted ways, two couples heading off to two different married lives.

Harley only remembered later that Jay had forgotten to leave a tip.


	6. Harley Started Gettin' Abused :(

It wasn’t too long after they’d arrived home from the dinner that Jay broached the silence. Harley could tell something was wrong as soon as they’d stepped through the front door; hell, as soon as they’d gotten in the car. His shoulders were tense, the cords of the muscles in his arms tight, and a muscle in his jaw was working.

He’d slammed open the front door and started pacing. Harley had made the executive decision to let him steam himself out and gone to the kitchen to make herself a cup of chamomile.

“Did you see that?” He finally broke when she was still in the kitchen, kettle whistling. She heard his feet stop their drumbeat on the floor.

“What, Jay?” She ripped open the teabag package and set it into the mug. The cup was one of her favorites, a gift from Pam for her seventeenth birthday. It was custom, with a picture of the two of them grinning on the Ferris wheel at the county fair. Pam’s was laughing, her wild red hair a complete mess, as Harley picked a piece of straw out of it (the hayride had left its mark).

“I said, did you hear me, Harley?” Jay stalked into the kitchen, running one hand through his green hair.

“Sorry, puddin’” Harley said absently, “I wasn’t listening.”

He took a step towards her. Something in the air had changed; it was like a fog had dropped over the room without her realizing it. Like she couldn’t see the real Jay anymore.

“I _said_ ,” he continued, “your parents were looking at me like I’d fucked you up.”

“Aw, that’s not true, Jay,” Harley said, turning to pour the hot water into her mug. Yeah, so maybe she didn’t want to look at him right now, not when he was acting so… weird. That was the word. Weird.

She felt his hand on her shoulder before he jerked her around. The tea sloshed in the mug she still gripped; not enough to slop over the side and burn her, but it was a close thing.

Harley gaped at him. “What are you—you know, Jay, you’re acting like a real sonuva-“

He slapped her.

The pain was instant, her cheek tight and ears ringing. She dropped to the floor, realizing dumbly that she’d dropped the mug. It had already shattered; she’d felt the hot tea splash her left foot, bare since she’d taken her shoes off at the door. Her right hand was on her face, her left braced in… in the shards of mug. She lifted it up, taking careful stock. Her hand was bleeding where a small piece of the broken ceramic had punctured it.

“ _Oh my God,”_ Jay was down on one knee next to her, arms going behind her knees and under her back as he hoisted her into the air. “Oh my God, Harley, baby, I’m so sorry, you just got me so angry and I just couldn’t help it, oh Harley, I didn’t mean to hurt you, let me take care of it, Harley, I promise, I’ll _never_ do anything like that again, Harl, could you ever forgive me? Please, please, Harley, you’ve gotta forgive me.” He set her down on the bed and hustled to the bathroom, returning with a cool, damp cloth.

She’d never seen him look so terrible. “I’m a horrible person, Harley,” he said, dabbing at the blood on her hand. Was he about to _cry?_ “Oh hell, I should… I should kill myself, I’m just a total—”

“Stop,” she croaked out, her heart aching. He looked up, and the pure anguish on his face was enough to decide it for her. “I forgive you.”

He looked back down at her hand and kept working on it. “You don’t mean that,” he mumbled. “I don’t deserve that.”

“It was a mistake. I… I almost called you a—” Harley made herself laugh. “See? It’s funny.”

That smile, that oh-so-familiar smile – his special smile, just for her – started to spread on his face. Slowly at first, and then it absorbed him, and her Jay was back: not the angry Jack Napier, not the apologetic one – _her_ Jay. “Yeah,” he acknowledged, “it _was_ kinda funny, wasn’t it?”

<><><>

She called in sick to work the next morning, her palm still aching. Jay had dressed it carefully with the best band-aids and antiseptic money could buy – or at least, the best that had been in the bathroom cupboard. Her foot was still a little red, and it burned when she pulled her socks on, but the pain faded even as she padded through the house.

She paused at the edge of the kitchen tile.

The remains of the mug lay where they’d fallen. The kitchen was a graveyard of shards; half of Pam’s face here, one of Harley’s pigtails over by the bottom of the dishwasher. _That’s right_ , Harley thought, _he didn’t leave me alone last night after… after it happened. He wouldn’t have had time to clean it._

The cynical part of her brain wanted to remind her that if it had been the other way around, _she_ would’ve slid out from under the covers when Jay was sound asleep and gone to sweep up the mess. But then the part of her that was a newlywed stepped in – he hadn’t wanted to leave her alone. Not even for a minute.

Humming to herself, Harley cleaned up the mug, collecting the bits carefully in a plastic bag. She’d get some superglue from the store later and piece it back together. It would be worth it. That mug contained memories as well as tea. Sure, it hurt her that it was broken, but it couldn’t be helped. Jay had apologized, and besides, he hadn’t even been the one to drop the mug. That’d been Harley’s fault, technically.

He wouldn’t have hurt her if it hadn’t been her fault in the first place, either. She’d provoked him with that nasty comment she’d been about to make. Jay in his right mind never would’ve done… _that._ He loved her. She’d just gotten him worked up, and she wouldn’t make that mistake again. She’d show it to him.

By the time he got up, breakfast was ready.

<><><>

Pam’s voice over the phone was… different, somehow. Jay was off at work, and Harley was curled up in bed with the phone on speaker, replacing the band-aids on her hand. Most of the wounds had been small cuts; the big one, from that nasty shard, was the only slice that was still oozing blood. She made a face at it as she fished a giant band-aid out of Jay’s all-in-one box.

“I don’t know, it’s just… he’s been looking at me weird,” Pam finished.

Distracted, Harley peered closer at her hand. Was that a tiny piece of mug still stuck deep in that cut? She’d have to get it out before it healed over. “How long has he been doing it?” Harley got to her feet and went into the bathroom, rummaging through the drawer in search of tweezers.

“Mostly this week,” came Pam’s voice from the other room. “I dunno, Harls, it’s just… _odd._ ”

“Professors are all odd,” Harley yelled out the bathroom door, “or haven’t you ever seen a movie, Pam? If you’re a professor, you’re either a mad scientist or a hard-ass. And maybe you thought he was the latter but he’s the former instead?”

Aha! Tweezers. Harley jumped back onto the bed, the mattress springing up satisfyingly under her as she did. Pam had just come to Woodrue’s defense, Harley surmised – she hadn’t caught the beginning of the sentence, but that was the gist of it.

“Yeah, well,” Harley said, “you could always quit?”

Suffice to say, Pam did not find it in herself to entertain that idea. Harley took the phone off speaker for Pam’s rant about certain young women needing certain research credentials in order to receive admittance and, furthermore, scholarships to certain graduate schools. Once she could tell Pam was nearing the end of her spiel, Harley started listening again.

“I see that was an unpopular opinion,” Harley said. She’d finished with her hand and had pulled her sock off. She winced as she poked at the inflamed skin. “Hey, Pam, what do you use for a burn?”

Pam paused. Her voice softened as she spoke. “Harley… what happened? Is it bad?”

“Oh, no, no, of course not. I… I spilled a little tea on my foot, is all.” She made herself chuckle. “Clumsy me, you know.”

“You’ve never been clumsy, Harl. Daring, maybe, a little foolhardy, perhaps, but clumsy? You were a _gymnast_ , for God’s sake.”

“Yeah, well, I was distracted. Um… Jay kissed me and the drink kinda tilted over and I wasn’t paying attention.” Harley was almost impressed by how smoothly the lie slipped off her tongue.

She didn’t want Pam to know what had really happened; it’d give her the wrong idea about Jay. Harley could already tell Jay was skating on thin ice with Pam, and she hadn’t even given him a chance yet! This could be the final straw to turn Pam against him when it wasn’t even really his fault.

“Oh.” Pam’s voice iced again. Harley rolled her eyes. She was _married_ , and she still couldn’t say stuff like that about Jay – making out or having sex or _anything_ – without Pam acting like a judgmental old lady about it. “Aloe vera.”

“What?”

“For the burn. Aloe vera.”

“Oh yeah. Right.” Harley had almost forgotten about her original question. “You’re a lifesaver, Pam.”

“I try.”

Outside the house, a car door slammed. Harley grinned. “Hey, Red, I gotta go.”

Pam sighed. “Harley, just make sure—”

“Love ya, Pam!” Harley said, hanging up and setting the phone on the side table. She grabbed the medical stuff and hurried it back to the bathroom; she could hear Jay come in the front, the screen door swinging shut behind him. He started puttering around the kitchen; she arranged herself on the bed. She had a plan. One that would make him forget all about what had happened last night.

When he walked into the bedroom, he did a literal double take.

She was dressed in a flimsy nightgown snatched from a Goodwill when she was a teen and gifted to Pam as a joke. Pam had returned the favor, and the same nightgown had gone back and forth between them so many times Harley couldn’t keep track of them all. Just Harley’s luck that she had it now; Pam had hidden it in Harley’s graduation robes the night before they walked and suggested with a snort that Harley give it a run onstage.

She’d never tried it on before, but the fabric hugged her curves in a way Harley was sure would get Jay fired up. By the look in his eye – and the wolf whistle he sent her way – it seemed it was having the intended effect.

“ _Damn,_ Harley.”

The fact that that was all he could say was enough to convince her the nightgown had been worth it.

He hadn’t shaved in the morning; his stubble was rough against her mouth and her skin as he worked his way over her, replacing the memory of his hand against her cheek with calculated kisses. They covered her face, her body, and she shivered in pleasure. Now _this_ , this fire, this flame kindling in her stomach, _this_ was what the real Jay could do.

After, she stumbled out to the kitchen for a drink of water. Something was off, though she didn’t realize it until she looked at the floor and remembered the mug.

The plastic bag with the pieces – the one she’d set on the counter – was gone.

She checked in the trash can under the sink. Maybe he’d thrown it away without realizing its significance. No; it wasn’t there. It had disappeared off the face of the Earth.

Harley returned to the bedroom. To Jay. “Hey, puddin’?” She tilted her head to the side, trying to seem more inquisitive than accusatory. She wasn’t accusing him, anyway. It could’ve been a simple misunderstanding.

“Huh?”

“Just wondering, Jay, where you put that plastic bag with the mug pieces? It’s not where I left it.”

He shifted under the sheets, the light peeking through the window catching some of the planes of his bare chest as he sat up. He yawned, then looked at Harley straight on, a crease of confusion between his eyebrows. “You must be joshing me, Harley,” he said, smile starting to spread. Something flashed in his eyes, gone before she could identify it. He raised an eyebrow. “What bag?”


	7. Dark Glasses & Long-Sleeved Blouses

By the time Pam visited for Fall Break, Harley had taken to wearing long-sleeved blouses. It wasn’t that much of a change to her normal habits, given the weather shifting into a beautiful, blazing Tennessee autumn, but Jay… he’d been slipping up, recently.

He’d broken down after the third – maybe the fourth? – time he’d hit her. Told her how sorry he was, how he knew he was a terrible human being. She’d found herself comforting him again, and that was when he’d told her about his childhood.

Alcoholic dad. Cowering under the bed with his mother, who wasn’t much better after she took up drinking, too. She’d noticed scars, of course, when she and Jay had slept together, but she hadn’t pried, and he opened up about them one by one, letting her trace them with delicate fingertips as the ache in her jaw subsided from where he’d slammed his palm into it.

One long, arching scar curving under his shoulder blade from a broken whisky bottle wielded as a weapon. A few lashes from a belt. A smattering of tiny circles on his arms from cigarette butts put out against his skin.

She hadn’t been able to help herself. In hindsight, it’d been her own fault this time, too. “Jay,” she’d said tentatively, running her thumb over one of the thin white lines, “thank you. For trusting me with this.” She hesitated. “And you think this might have contributed to your… abusive tendencies?”

He’d flinched back immediately, his eyes getting a sort of wild look to them – like a cornered animal. He reached for his shirt, the purple one he’d been wearing when she first met him, and slipped it on, turning his back to her. And after a moment of silence, in a voice so broken she couldn’t stand it, he murmured: “ _I thought you were different._ ”

“Jay?”

“Just like everyone else,” he said, burying his face in his hands. “Look at me, Harley! You really think I can help it? After everything the people in my life have put me through? I’m _trying_ , I really am, but… baby, these are mistakes. These are slip-ups. I’m not a goddamn, like, serial _abuser.”_

“Puddin’, I’m sorry.” Harley crawled across the bed and sat next to him, leaning her head on his shoulder. He flinched; she winced, feeling guilty as hell for not supporting him. “It’s okay, really. You can tell me these things. I won’t call you that again.”

She hadn’t, either. She’d been real good about it, even though his temper seemed to worsen with the darkening days. Pam had been diagnosed when they were younger with a mild case of Seasonal Affective Disorder, so Harley knew what it was like when the weather messed with your mood, but with Jay it was different. He didn’t get that fatigued look around his eyes that Pam used to if she went too many days without sun. He just stalked through the house, muttering, and every so often he exploded. Threw one of her books. Yelled. Grabbed her, hit her, once slammed a door in her face so suddenly that she’d almost gotten her hand caught in it.

But he always apologized and came back sweeter than ever for a day or two. Bought her flowers or takeout, took care of her…

She was only sporting two bruises on her arms right now. One from where he’d hit her with a book when she’d broached a sensitive subject (his parents) and one a ghostly blue-black impression of his hand from where he’d grabbed her when she’d been late to get dinner on the table. She wore a loose red-and-black patterned blouse and a jacket over the top of it to meet Pam.

Jay had taken the car, so Harley walked to the bus station, purse slung over her shoulder. She kept her back straight and her head held high. She needed to get out of the house more; lately, it seemed she didn’t leave unless it was for work or date nights out on the town. The latter were occurring more and more infrequently.

She waited at the bus stop, shivering a little. A crisp breeze swept leaves down the street in flurries of wind. Harley zipped up her jacket, wincing as she brushed one of the bruises in the movement.

Pam’s bus was early by a minute. And not a moment too soon.

Harley couldn’t see her through the windows, no matter how eagerly she craned her neck to get a good look. But as soon as the door folded open with a creak, Pam was there, taking the steps two at a time in her rush to get her feet on the ground. Wearing dark black jeans and a smart green jacket with ivy leaves embroidered across the shoulders, Pam looked every bit the city girl.

But when she smiled at Harley, whose heart was already galloping in her throat, there was no question that this was still _Pam._

Pam who’d grinned at Harley with a smudge of dirt on her nose after a rough-and-tumble day in the field when they were little. Pam who’d spent long nights at Harley’s place working on their 4H projects so they’d be ready for the county fair.

 _That_ Pam dropped her duffel bag in the dirt and practically threw herself into Harley’s arms. It hurt like the devil. Harley ignored the pain.

That was fairly easy to do, given the plethora of sensations flooding her brain at the moment. Pam’s soft, clean hair getting in Harley’s face (it should’ve been annoying but instead felt like home). Her freckled arms wrapped around Harley’s torso, fitting them together as perfectly as they always had. The smell of her, slightly floral, slightly earthy, an intoxicating perfume Harley had forgotten existed. 

She’d thought the feelings would be duller, somehow, now that she was married, but instead it just felt like her every nerve ending was exposed where Pam touched her. With how often Harley felt guilty, recently, it shouldn’t have mattered to add a little more to the pile, but it was different now that she was having genuine thoughts of adulter— _nope, not going there, Harl._

Pam drew back, her smile like sunshine. Harley couldn’t help but smile in response.

“Oh, Harls,” Pam said, holding her at arm’s length like it would let her get a better look, “you look tired.”

“Gotta say, right back atcha, Red,” Harley said with a wink. Though it wouldn’t have been noticeable to most, she could see the bags under Pam’s eyes, the exhaustion in her eyes. “That Woodrue fucker must be such a _dick.”_

Pam laughed, but her fingers tightened on Harley’s shoulders almost imperceptibly. “He _does_ keep us working hard.”

Harley scooped up Pam’s bag and slung it over a shoulder. _Ouch_. She adjusted it so it wouldn’t slip down towards either of the bruises. She was at a loss for words as she started the walk back to Jay’s place – _their_ place.

My, my, how things had changed.

“We have you set up in the guest bedroom,” Harley said, striding purposefully down the street. “Anything we’ve got, you can feel free to use. There’s always food in the pantry if you’re hungry. And—”

“Harley.” Pam’s voice was edged. “Are you limping?”

Harley looked down at her legs. Oh yeah – Jay had pushed her down a week or so ago, and she’d landed on her hip a little wrong. But it would be healed up soon enough. Harley coughed. “Yeah, I had a little accident the other day working on the… on the shingles. We had to replace a couple.” What a dumb lie. She shouldn’t have just said the first thing that came to her mind, but she just wanted Pam to let sleeping dogs lie.

“Hmm.” Pam did not sound convinced.

“Are you visiting your parents, Red? While you’re in town, I mean.” Harley hoped the change in subject wasn’t too blatantly obvious.

It seemed to work, though she could tell Pam wasn’t going to let those dogs sleep forever. “I’m meeting with them on Wednesday,” Pam replied.

“Let me guess,” Harley snickered, “’Mr. and Mrs. Isley request the presence of their offspring to present an appropriate report of her collegiate progress and consume an appetizing supper, after which she will be expected to return only when requested.’ Does that sound about right?”

Pam groaned. “You were only off by a word or two. I think it was ‘partake of’ instead of ‘consume.’”

“Some things never change.”

“No,” said Pam, reaching for Harley’s free hand with her own. Their fingers laced together as naturally as ever. “They don’t.”

<><><>

The first thing Jay did when he saw Pam – after welcoming her to their home – was to wait until she’d gone into the kitchen for a glass of water to whisper to Harley, “ _threesome?”_

Harley rolled her eyes and hissed out a response, fully aware that Pam was only a wall away. “ _Oh my God, Jay, be a mature adult._ ”

“ _I’d say that’s quite a mature comment, Harley. You don’t see immature people engaging in threesomes, now, do you?”_

“What was that?” Pam returned triumphant, cup clutched in her hand.

“Nothing,” Harley said, smiling beatifically. She could see logically why Jay had brought it up – even in casual wear, Pam was a bombshell as always – but in practice, thinking about him thinking about Pam that way was a chain of thinking abouts that made something twist unpleasantly in Harley’s stomach. “Why don’t we take a seat in the living room so you two can get to know each other?”

Jay smiled, and for the first time Harley didn’t like it. “That sounds,” he said, “like a magnificent idea.”

<><><>

None of the shingles on the roof had been new.

That was what Pam had noticed first about the house whose living room she was currently sitting in. There wasn’t a single patch of shingles that was less worn than the others. Which meant Harley was lying.

Harley had only ever lied twice, as far as Pam knew. Once, after the incident – a lie to Pam’s parents. Once, to Harley’s own parents, when one of her little brothers had gotten into a fight at school.

Pam’s issue now, as she leaned back in the couch and tapped her foot under the table, was that in both previous cases she knew that Harley had lied to protect people. To protect her brother. To protect Pam.

And there was only one person Pam could imagine Harley would be lying to protect now.

Jay was drinking a gin and tonic. He’d offered one to her, but Pam had declined; she’d never been one to drink. First because she wasn’t of age, second – and most important – because she despised the thought of ever losing control of herself. She and Harley had split a cup of whiskey when they were juniors and Pam had very nearly done something she would have regretted ‘til her dying day. No liquor for her.

“So, Jay,” Pam said, “how did you meet Harley?”

He looked at her through heavy-lidded eyes. “Jack.”

“Jack?”

“You can call me Jack,” he said, taking a sip of his drink. “Only Harley gets to call me Jay.”

The corner of Harley’s mouth twitched up at that, like it was something special for the two of them to share. An ugly creature in Pam’s chest stirred. She frowned. “All right, then, _Jack_. Same question.”

“I’m sure Harley’s already told you, Pammie,” Jay said, smiling innocently. “She’s already told me _so_ much about you, I can’t imagine the reverse not being true.”

How much had Harley told him? How many secrets, whispered during sleepovers in the dark of their high school years, had been repeated to Harley’s new _husband?_ (The creature twitched again as Pam thought about that word.)

“You met at _La Bella Burrito_ ,” Pam said. “But I want to know your perspective, Jack. This is small talk, you know. It’s what people do.” It was what her parents had drilled into her, this ability – the ability that should be effortless – to pull conversation out of people without them noticing her touch.

“She was the most beautiful doll I’d ever seen,” Jay said, looping his arm around Harley’s waist. Pam didn’t miss the subtle flinch as he reached out to her; strangely, Harley folded in towards Jay after that, leaning into him. “Dressed in that waitress getup, with such a sheepish smile when I talked to her… I was hooked, Pammie. Tell me you wouldn’t be.” He cackled abruptly, tossing his head back. Another flinch from Harley. Pam narrowed her eyes an infinitesimal amount.

The discussion was meaningless after that. They talked about all manner of things, none of them of any import. Jay was remarkably good at avoiding straight answers. Slippery as a snake, that one.

The conversation was finally drawing to a close by the time Harley brought up the news. “Did you know Ally Oldman, Pam?”

Pam raised an eyebrow. “Who?”

“Oh, good,” Harley said. “You probably haven’t heard the news, since you’ve been travelling all day and all, but I thought—”

“Ally Oldman’s a kidnapping victim,” Jay butted in. “In Atlanta. Went out jogging near Emory and hasn’t been seen since yesterday.”

Pam shifted in her seat. “I didn’t know.” Sure, it was a little creepy – but Atlanta was a big city. Crimes were just more common when you stuffed people together that way.

“Well, you know,” Jay said, face shifting into an expression of utmost concern, “we thought you should be aware of the dangers to young, single women.” His gaze prickled on her skin. “We wouldn’t want anything to _happen_ to you, now, Pammie dearest.”

<><><>

“Your honest opinion,” Harley said.

They were walking down by Wayne Lake. Jay had gone off to work ( _what kind of hours does this man keep?_ Pam wondered) and Pam and Harley had donned extra layers and gone off together.

“I don’t like him,” Pam said. “That’s the honest opinion.”

Harley shrugged. “Yeah, I could kinda tell. He… he rubs some people the wrong way.”

The lake was quiet in the dusky light, surface marred only by the ripples of a few Canada geese out on the water. They walked on, the both of them quiet, for a few moments. “Harley,” Pam said, finally breaking the silence, “does he… _do_ things to you?”

Harley laughed, then. “What, Red, are you jealous?”

Pam could already feel the flush rising in her cheeks. _Good going, Pamela._ Oh God. Had that simple question been enough to tip Harley off? Pam hadn’t even been aiming in that direction, she’d just been curious about the old shingles and Harley’s lie, but what if Harley thought she—

“Sorry,” Harley said in a rush, “I’m so sorry, Pam, I didn’t mean to, like, bring up that… the incident. You know I would never.”

 _Oh,_ Pam thought, _a misunderstanding._ “No, of course not, Harl, it’s fine. It was a long time ago.” Pam reached for Harley’s hand. _Secret’s still safe, then,_ Pam thought as they twined their fingers together. And wasn’t that what mattered the most?

Harley squeezed her hand. “What you asked, though, Red… okay, the deal is that sometimes he pushes me around a little. But he’s getting better. Ya gotta trust me, Pam, I can take care of myself.”

Pam closed her eyes. She couldn’t change this, not right now. They were _married_. And Harley was right, that it was her own decision. But it still pained Pam to say it. “Note that my recommendation is that you leave the relationship, Harley,” she said curtly. “He’s obviously not good enough for you.”

Harley made a sort of noncommittal _hmm_ noise. “Hey, Red?”

“Yeah?”

“Be careful. When you go back. I know Jay was trying to be funny earlier tonight with that jab about the jogger, but… well, don’t get hurt.” Harley said it with a sort of finality, as if by ordering Pam to keep herself in one piece she could make it be so. Harley sighed, her fingers tightening around Pam’s. “I’m not going to be able to wait ‘til Spring Break.”

“We’ll make it, daffodil,” Pam said, falling back into old habits as easily as if she’d never left Littleton. She’d always found it so fitting to give Harley those little flower nicknames. Harley was bright and colorful and reminded Pam every time she looked at her of the beauty nature could create. “It’s technically only a few months.”

“Maybe I’ll come visit. If _Bella Burrito_ will give me some time off.” Harley looked up at Pam. It was really getting dark now; Pam could see the outline of Harley’s eyelashes as she turned her head. It was… it was nice.

She could acknowledge that, at the very least.

By the time Pam left at the end of Fall Break, it felt like the little hole in her heart, whose presence she had noticed the moment she got on the bus to leave at the end of the summer, had been patched up.

As she watched Harley’s receding form out the window of the bus this time, that little hole opened up again.


	8. Makeup (to cover a bruise)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm feeling an early (extra) update this week just for funsies. Officially, this is in honor of the archive hitting 6 million posted works. Go ao3!

The end of October was… not good. Harley knew it as soon as she realized she’d lost track of days. Mondays blurred into Fridays so quickly that she felt like nothing existed in between. And then, in early November, she made a rather telling mistake.

She and Jay had just made up after he’d come home steamed from something at work. They were in bed, wrapped around each other, and Harley, at the height of everything, had murmured “ _Pam._ ”

She hadn’t realized what she’d said until Jay had pulled away with storm clouds rolling across his expression, angry as she’d ever seen him. After that, he’d… hurt her.

Not in any particularly novel way, but certainly more severely than he ever had before. She’d slept through her alarm – she was pretty sure she was in so much pain she hadn’t even been able to hear it – and, hence, had missed her _Bella Burrito_ shift.

Three strikes and she was out. No more job for Harleen Quinzel.

Jay didn’t actually seem that torn up about it. He’d stayed home the whole day, nursing her back to health and elaborating at great length upon all of the fabulous things they’d be able to do together now that her days were officially free. Harley hadn’t really paid attention. She’d been hurting too much.

About halfway through November, she realized that maybe it wasn’t all her fault.

It should’ve been clear to her from the start, but it was a talk with Pam that did it. A phone conversation snagged in between Pam’s classes and her increasingly lengthy hours at Woodrue’s lab. Harley was lying in bed, cradling the phone to her ear as she nursed a split lip and a black eye.

“Something’s wrong,” Pam had announced only a few sentences into their conversation.

“What?”

“It’s your voice,” Pam said, “something’s… off.”

It was as simple as that. As simple as knowing that Pam could hear the slight change in Harley’s voice because of her swollen lip. That Pam could notice something that small, and remark that it wasn’t right.

Maybe it was the realization that Pam could notice such a thing, and maybe the juxtaposition of that with the sudden understanding that Jay never would.

She loved him. She loved him, didn’t she? The addition of the question at the end of the phrase was nearly instantaneous. It made something squirm in Harley’s stomach, like she was being unfaithful just in thinking it.

“Jay’s been hitting me,” Harley spat out, as if by saying it all at once she could make sure she wouldn’t renege on her decision to say it out loud. To admit it to herself, too. “And… he says he’s sorry, but I don’t think he is.”

Pam’s voice was tempered, even. “What changed?”

Not “how do you know?” or “what did he do?” Because Pam had already known. She’d known since Fall Break, or maybe even before. Sometimes Harley wondered if Pam knew her better than she knew herself.

“Your mug.” Harley said flatly. The puzzle of it was fitting together in her head. All the separate incidents coalescing into understanding. “The one you gave me. With the picture of us from the fair.” She frowned. “He broke it.”

“Oh.” Pam’s voice was very small.

“And he’s broken other things, too, Pam, but here’s the thing.” Harley clutched the phone like a lifeline, finding that her words were coming out with a hushed urgency. Jay wasn’t home; he’d been at work nearly the whole day. “Thing is, it’s always _my stuff._ He’s being a dick, Red. He’s never once broken something of his own. He _says_ he just gets angry and loses control, but how can that be right if he only breaks _my stuff?”_

“Impeccable logic, Harl.”

“I know you’re not trying to sound sarcastic, but that was literally the most Mrs. Isley thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Pam laughed, and sure, the topic under discussion was a heavy one, but that laugh took about a thousand pounds off of Harley’s chest. “So,” Pam said, “you gonna leave him?”

Just the thought made Harley shiver involuntarily. She thought about Jay’s eyes, flashing dark and angry. His hands forming fists. And maybe, just a little bit, she thought about the good times, when he brought her flowers and made her breakfast. “Umm… Pam, it might take a little time.” Perhaps she didn’t want to admit that part of her still thought she could fix him. Bring back the real Jay she sometimes saw peeking out like the sun through the stormy skies. Instead, she voiced the more practical concern. “I don’t really have a place to _go._ ”

Her parents had sold her childhood home, of course, and Harley sincerely doubted that Pam’s parents would let her anywhere near their cold and quiet townhouse, with its white picket fence and ornate metal gate and _topiaries_ or whatever else fancy hoity-toity people put around their homes. Hell, they hadn’t even let their own daughter stay past her “transition into adulthood.”

“Harl,” Pam said, “I think you need to phone a friend.”

“That’s what I’m doing,” Harley deadpanned.

“No,” Pam pushed, “ _her_.”

Harley knew immediately who she was talking about. With Harley’s parents gone and the only Littletonian she would usually throw her lot in off at Emory being a scientific genius, there was a single option left. The one person who Harley could trust to listen. Living only a town away. _Her._

After the end of their eighth grade year, she had moved out of Littleton. She used to be tight with Harley and Pam, evening out their trio, and then… that terrible little incident. And all at once the only times they saw her were on the high school athletics field, playing for the rival team and sporting the bruised black and purple of her new high school. Go Wildcats.

“Okay,” Harley said quietly. “I’ll talk to her.”

“I’ve got to get to lab,” Pam replied, “but give Selina my regards.”

<><><>

Harley wore dark glasses, a thick coat of makeup, and a black-and-white polka dot blouse with long sleeves (plus a jacket on top of it to boot). She’d waited until Jay had gone to work today to catch the bus between Littleton and Foxville. She could’ve taken the car, but Jay had driven it to work and Harley wasn’t of a mind to wait for it to get back.

She had a vague memory of Selina’s house; she remembered dropping by the new Kyle residence to deliver a pair of shoes Selina had left at Pam’s place. Pam, of course, hadn’t dared visit Selina. But it had been a long time since Harley had been in Foxville, and she wandered for a solid hour through the streets before she recognized the deep brown tones of Selina’s house. It was small, maybe one bedroom – not too expensive, Harley thought – but it looked well-loved. A rusty old bike was overturned in the driveway.

She casually checked the mailbox. The letters were all addressed to Selina Kyle. Even better, as Harley looked up, she saw a black cat – Isis, she thought, almost surprised that the yowling old thing was still alive – stalking across the lawn. That was a confirmation if there ever was one.

Shoving her nerves down into the pit of her stomach, Harley walked up to the door and knocked, a sharp rapping of her knuckles against the wood.

The girl who answered the door was most definitely _not_ Selina.

Same dark hair, of course, and tan skin and freckles and jade-green eyes. But she was short and very obviously still a kid sister. “Why Maggie,” Harley said, “the last time I saw you, you were missing your two front teeth.”

She still didn’t know if the missing teeth had been lost naturally or in a fight. With the Kyle girls, it could’ve gone either way.

“ _Harley?!_ ” That wasn’t Maggie, but rather an exclamation that came from behind her.

Now _that_ was Selina. Taller than Ivy, black hair in a daring pixie cut that framed the curve of her face. She was wearing a leather jacket casually draped across her shoulders with a black tank top underneath and looked hella hot. Harley coughed. “Hi, Selina.”

“Harleen Quinzel! Oh, fuck, it’s been a helluva long time. Maggie, go get water or something. She’s a fucking guest.”

Maggie hurried off to the kitchen as Harley stepped into the foyer. Harley and Selina in the same room had always been what Pam had called “incorrigible,” back when they were both too young to know what she meant. Really, it was just that they brought out each other’s dirtiest mouths. F-bombs flew like it was World War II. Or… they had.

Maybe things could be like they once were?

“It has been a while, hasn’t it?” Harley said. “I… fuck, you gotta let me apologize, Selina. I’ve been a dick. I—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Selina said, reaching out to pull the door shut behind Harley. “I know the deal. You were protecting Pam. I don’t blame you. I mean, I _did_ , but I know better now.” She turned on her heel, heading to a tiny living room with a worn old couch pushed up against one wall. She plopped down onto it and patted the cushion next to her. “C’mon, Harley, we’ve got to catch up.”

Maggie returned from the kitchen with two glasses of water. Harley took one from her gratefully, downing the whole thing. An hour out around Foxville looking for this house had made her thirsty as hell. “You said you know better now?” Harley asked.

“Uh, _duh_ ,” Selina said, rolling her eyes and taking a sip of water. “I’m dating Bruce.”

“Bruce _Wayne?_ ”

Selina smiled slyly. “It started up near the end of high school. We kept it on the DL.”

Harley sputtered a little for emphasis. “ _Fuck_ , Selina, you’re hooking up with a goddamn millionaire!”

Selina shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Is he in town?”

Selina nodded over her glass. “Working as a private investigator right now around the country. He’s taking a gap year. He lives with Maggie and me when he’s not out gallivanting and finding serial killers.”

Harley whistled. “Sick.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

“And… sorry, Selina, but _why_ does this relate to me screwing you over to the Isleys? I mean, I get that Bruce Wayne has lots of money and all and probably a huge dick or whatever, but I—”

“It’s not that weird,” Selina said, tucking her feet up under her. “You were doing for Pam what I would’ve done for Bruce. Hey, you know you can take those sunglasses off now. We’re, like, literally inside.”

Harley frowned. She didn’t know if she’d completely covered the black eye, but… hell. She was going to have to tell Selina sometime. That was why she was here.

She reached up and took off the glasses.

Selina sucked in a soft breath, and Harley knew the makeup hadn’t done enough. “Oh _fuck_ , Harley, I never thought Pam would—”

“It wasn’t Pam,” Harley corrected, stinging at even the thought that Pam would do something like this. “I got… well.” She held up her hand. Her ring sparkled. It didn’t look half so shiny anymore. “I got married, Selina, and… and…”

Okay, she wasn’t entirely ashamed to admit that she cried. Sobbed, really, so hard that she sent streaks down her cheeks, smearing the makeup so carefully applied before she’d come to see Selina. She blubbered her way through what had happened and what was still happening and the fact that Selina was the only one she and Pam could think of who might still be able to help.

“What an absolute dickhead,” Selina said when she’d finished. “What a total douchebag loser.”

Harley smiled up at her wetly. Sometime during the cry she’d ended up with her head on Selina’s lap. “Umm… yeah.”

“And you don’t feel like you can leave him now because…”

“I just need a little more time,” Harley said. “I… he used to be better. I need to know he’ll be okay without me.” _I need to know I’ll be okay without him._

Selina stroked Harley’s hair, fingers teasing out the tangles. Harley wiped at her face with her sleeve, trying to get some of the rest of the makeup off, and hiccupped.

“You haven’t cried in a while, have you?” Selina asked, voice as gentle as her hands.

Harley shook her head.

“Well,” Selina said, a certain finality to her voice, “you’re still brave as balls, Harley. To ask for help. Fuck, you need to come talk more. Seems like you need it. I know _I’m_ certainly not at my best when Bruce is out of town.” Selina’s fingers paused for a moment. She started braiding a few strands of Harley’s hair. “If you need a place, I’m sure we can set up an extra mattress for you in the front room.”

Harley sniffled. “Really?”

“Kid friendships die hard,” Selina said. “And no matter how much you seem to think so, ours isn’t dead yet.”

<><><>

Pam’s eye was up against the microscope as she stared intently at the leaf sitting beneath it. She felt like she was almost at a breakthrough – Woodrue was truly excellent as a principal investigator, no matter his other flaws, and he allowed his lab students to do far more than just complete rote tasks. He wanted them to put their minds to important problems, and plant-mammal hybridization was certainly important.

She pulled back and took a few notes. She was _so_ close, she could almost feel it; she understood the theory and the practice, and putting them together was all she had left to do. If she could just figure out why the mouse DNA rejected the botanical incursions so violently, she _knew_ she could formulate a mediating solution to ameliorate the effects…

“Pamela,” said Woodrue, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. She’d been so immersed in her next sample that she hadn’t even realized he’d come up behind her.

She sat up straight and smiled at him. “Yes, Professor?” She was in a good mood; her mind was buzzing and so were her fingers as she adjusted the sample’s glass plate under the scope. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation. Yes, she knew it wasn’t healthy, but Pam had so many things to _do_ and her ZZZs were always first on the chopping block when it came time to decide what to give up.

“I wanted to confirm your availability for Winter Break.”

“Of course, Professor,” Pam said, turning back to the microscope. “I’ve already made the appropriate requests to housing.”

“Excellent. Pamela… I remember during our interview you mentioned a family situation.” She couldn’t see his face, but based on the context she assumed he was trying to be sympathetic. Woodrue wasn’t very good at making emotions happen with his tone. The only time it ever changed was when he got passionate about his work. That was Woodrue at his best, cheeks shining, words tripping over themselves to get out of his mouth.

“From what I recall, you were the one who asked.” Pam remembered the question, she thought, as she shifted her sample just slightly to the right – he’d said that her lab coworkers would become her family and asked her about her home life. To know more about who he might be hiring. She’d mentioned that she and the Isleys were not the closest nuclear family in the world. _God,_ she thought, studying a vein on her sample and attempting to reproduce it on her paper, _you know it’s bad when you refer to your parents by their last names_.

“Yes,” Woodrue said pensively. “I just wanted to say that you are more than welcome here.” He paused, and she could hear a bit of fervor come back to his voice as he added, “I’m excited to have you in the lab.”

It was probably as close to a genuine compliment as she’d ever heard from him. “Thank you, Professor.”

“Oh, no need to thank me, Pamela,” he muttered, “no need at all.”

When she left the lab a few hours later, it was dark outside. She kept her keys slotted between her fingers, thinking of Ally Oldman, the whole walk back to her dorm. It was probably just paranoia – the anxiety of being on high alert the whole time – but she could’ve sworn that someone’s gaze was tracking up the back of her spine.

When she looked back, no one was there.


	9. Incidentally...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I'm giving up on lyrical chapter titles a little. There are too many chapters for all the lyrics!
> 
> Also, given the extremely positive response to posting a Thursday chapter, I'm considering making that a Thing and doing 2 chapters a week. Still deciding - we'll see...
> 
> Also also: prepare yourself, this is a long one.

Harley wasn’t really the type to… you know… _plan_ things.

That should’ve been evident, given the rapid pace of her relationship with Jay. They’d gotten married only a little more than a month after meeting, for god’s sake. Harley just wasn’t the type to go around with flowery agendas jotting down each and every task she had to complete for the week. That was Pam’s thing, and good on her, but the fact still stood. Harleen Quinzel was not a planner.

But when it came to leaving Jay…

Harley had a list about a mile long in her head.

Making sure she had a place to stay was at the top of it (her conversation with Selina had solidified that fact). Selina Kyle, of all people, knew how valuable a roof over one’s head could be; she’d been her little sister’s guardian since the day she was legally emancipated, and Harley knew they’d been ducking the law before then, worried that Maggie would get taken by child services with Selina’s parents gone.

They weren’t dead, of course, just assholes.

Point being that Selina understood. Next bullet point on Harley’s list: get a job.

She’d mentioned it in a conversation with Selina after bringing a small duffel bag of clothes to Selina’s house – it hadn’t been Harley’s idea, but she understood the practicality of making sure she had things to wear if she had to make an unexpected exit from Jay’s cabin – and Selina had offered to go around Foxville with her to make inquiries.

It felt… strange, to be doing all this behind Jay’s back. Harley knew it was a bad sign that thinking about telling him she wanted to leave made her shiver. He’d actually been getting a little better, over the winter. She thought maybe it was the coming holiday season – that always put a little cheer in people’s hearts, didn’t it? Or maybe it was the fact that she’d been making all his favorite meals and hadn’t spent much time with him during the day. Maybe it was ‘cause he had less of a chance to get tired of her. Mad at her.

Harley shook the thought out of her head and threw on an extra layer. She was wearing a turtleneck Pam had given her and tiny silver hoops in her ears; she thought she looked damn professional.

She took the bus to Foxville and met Selina downtown. Foxville was significantly bigger than Littleton, though still small – while Littleton barely brushed 8,000 people, Foxville’s population was edging towards 25,000. It was a hot destination at the moment, with a cozy little downtown and wooden playsets in all of its parks. That was how you could tell it was getting gentrified; the cheap plastic slides that had burned Harley’s behind growing up in Littleton were nowhere to be seen in Foxville.

She and Selina stopped by a bougie little boutique that sold candles with names like “Essence of Rose’s Heart” and “Darkness at Dawn.” The inside smelled like incense and had probably three miles of fairy lights strung all over the sprinkler pipes. They had a sign asking for resumes in the window; Harley handed hers over with a smile and a bubbly little spiel about how much she adored small businesses like _Unique Boutique_.

She and Selina left the shop to find that it was snowing. “A little late this year,” Selina noted, zipping up her black leather jacket. “We should’ve had at least a dusting in November.”

Harley tilted her head back as she walked, letting the snow flake on her cheeks. “Early December ain’t that bad.” She waved her packet of resumes in the air. “Besides, I think I’m a shoo-in for the _Unique Boutique_ gig. I could fuckin’ unique their boutiques all day.”

“We’re not stopping yet, Harley. It’s only one down, lots more to go. Pay attention where you’re go—”

The warning came too late – Harley collided bodily with a man who’d just exited the store in front of her, an enormous package in his hands. He nearly fell but righted himself before the package could go flying. “Oh, shit, sorry, mister—”

Mr. Isley looked up from his box. “Oh. Harleen.”

Mrs. Isley appeared in the store doorway. “Oh. Harleen,” she added. There was no difference in the tonality between husband and wife; both said Harley’s name as neutrally as if they were meeting her for the first time and had chosen to suspend judgement until she proved worthy of their time.

And then they looked as one to Selina, and Harley saw emotions rising on their faces. Complex feelings, for the Isleys; rage, disgust, simmering hatred. All immediately tamped down by societal convention. Though Mrs. Isley’s voice was icy as the North Pole when she said, “Harleen, don’t tell me you’re spending time with this _skank_.”

Whoa. That was the equivalent of the f-bomb in the Isley household.

“Selina was helping me scout out jobs,” Harley said, trying to bring their attention to the positives Selina brought to the table. All four of them knew what was on the Isleys’ minds, and Harley wanted to redirect their thoughts while she still had a chance.

“It’s all right, Harley, don’t try to skirt around the issue.” Selina said, eyes narrowing. “After all, _skanks_ don’t deserve common decency.”

Mrs. Isley looked down her nose at Selina. “We should be going,” she said tartly.

“Of course you should, Lillian,” Selina snarled.

Harley took a deep breath, knowing she would regret it if she said what she wanted to say… and decided to say it anyway.

As couple turned to stalk away, she called out. “Just a comment, Mr. and Mrs. Isley – we’ll make sure to pass on your opinion of Bruce Wayne’s girlfriend the next time we see him.”

Bruce Wayne. The type of rich person the Isleys wished they could be.

Harley was pretty sure she could see their shoulders tense even from here. Neither one of them looked back.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Selina erupted into giggles. “Oh my fucking _God_ , I had no idea they took the incident so hard. Did you see their _faces?_ ”

Harley frowned. “I can’t believe Pam had to live with _that_ for eighteen years.”

“It’s a wonder she turned out normal at all, Selina acknowledged.

“She’s still got academic anxiety through the roof.”

“The superiority complex, too?”

“She’s working on it.”

Selina eyed Harley. “And… romantically? Anything going on for her?”

Something twisted in Harley’s stomach. “Umm… I don’t think so.”

Selina sighed. “It’s going to take her a long time to wiggle out from under their thumbs, isn’t it? Even miles and miles away.”

 _Yeah,_ Harley thought, _Pam may be miles and miles away from her parents_ _and years and years away from the incident._ Her fingers tightened around her resumes. _But that’s not something you just forget._

<><><>

Four Years Ago

_“Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday dear Pa-aaaam… Happy Birthday to you!”_

_The party broke up into giggles as Bruce pulled off a low harmony in an operatic baritone that was as funny as it was impressive._

_Pam had been explicitly limited by her parents to no more than four party guests. She’d wheedled her parents into five by promising Bruce Wayne would be the fifth. So it was Harley (naturally), Selina, Bruce, Harvey Dent, and Victor Fries sitting around the Isleys’ dark mahogany table, eagerly waiting for the cake to be sectioned out. (Victor was allergic to iced treats, so the cake was unadorned. If anything, the Isleys were meticulous about the dietary restrictions of their guests. Harley suspected it was paranoia of a lawsuit.)_

_After they ate their cake, they headed downstairs. Mrs. Isley called after them, “I’ll be down to check on you all in a few hours – enjoy your interaction.” Harley would’ve expected nothing less._

_The Isley basement was as pristine as the rest of the house, with smooth wood floors and severe leather furniture. Pam pulled a few “seating cushions,” as her parents were wont to call them, out of the closet, and the kids grabbed a pillow each. Selina kicked off her shoes and settled dramatically onto her pillow – Harley could only properly call it “lounging.” It was a very Selina thing to do._

_Harvey had snuck a bottle of vodka in, tucked away in his shirt. Victor stood watch at the basement door as Harvey poured a little into each of their cups; it was clear enough that any parents peeking down could easily mistake it for water._

_Technically, Pam hadn’t yet turned fourteen. They were celebrating a week before the end of the school year, since she was set to go to a fancy summer science camp and would be leaving as soon as Littleton Middle let out. Harvey, out of all of them, had the easiest access to alcohol; his dad tended to leave bottles around the house._

_Sure, Harley wasn’t the get-drunk-and-party type – none of them were, really – but she was curious. She’d never had vodka before – only a sip of beer once, at home, when she asked her dad about it last year and he said she might as well give it her first try in the comfort of her own house. She hadn’t particularly liked the taste._

_She didn’t like it now, either, but she sipped at the vodka because it was what everyone else was doing. Pam and Bruce, the goody-two-shoes of the group, seemed a bit more hesitant than everyone else, but there was still the sense of celebration in the air, and Harley was sure it wouldn’t do any harm._

_It was getting late when somebody suggested Spin the Bottle. They were all a little buzzed – it didn’t take much vodka to get them there, given the general inexperience with alcohol at the time – and it seemed like a good idea. Pam’s floors were perfect for it, given how smooth the hardwood was._

_Harvey flipped a coin to see who would go first, determining through a complicated mechanism all his own that it would be Bruce. Bruce spun. The bottle’s end landed on Harvey, who raised an eyebrow. Bruce pecked him on the cheek, then looked to his left._

_Victor’s hands were nervous on the bottle, but he spun it with gusto. It came to a stop pointing at Harley; her heart gave a little gallop, though it wasn’t because she found Victor Fries particularly attractive. She didn’t like his widow’s peak or close-shorn hair, or his eyes – so ice-blue they seemed to see right through her. She let him kiss her anyways. It was brief and chaste, lip-to-lip, but it made her feel… dirty, almost._

_She looked across the circle to see Pam’s eyes locked on hers._

_“My turn,” Pam said abruptly. All eyes turned to her; technically, Harvey was to Victor’s left._

_Then again, it_ was _Pam’s birthday, and Harvey, who had somehow become the mediator of all this, shrugged. “All right, then,” he said, nudging the bottle her way with one toe._

_Pam leaned forward, fingers resting on the bottle for only an instant before she sent it spinning._

_Harley felt like it spun forever, whirling about on that hardwood floor like a top. It didn’t seem to abide by the laws of friction, given how long it spun. As it began to slow, Harley found that she was biting her lip; she got a little prick of anticipation every time the end of the bottle spun past her. She knew it had landed on her last time, but this was a game of chance as much as anything. Maybe it would land on her again. Maybe she wanted it to._

_With agonizing slowness, the bottle came to a stop._

_Pointing directly at Selina Kyle._

_Pam looked at Harley. Her hair was wild, her eyes green fire, her freckled cheeks flushed._

_Maybe it was because Pam’s inhibitions weren’t working as per usual, what with the vodka. Maybe it was because of the way she’d looked at Harley when Victor had kissed her. Maybe it was just goddamn idiotic Pamela Lillian Isley shit, the kinda impulsiveness Harley so rarely saw in her best friend – the kind of impulsiveness that somehow made her love Pam even more._

_Pam leaned across the circle and kissed Selina._

_Like, really kissed her._

_Selina didn’t seem to mind; she curled a hand around the back of Pam’s head, twining it in Pam’s hair, and kissed back._

_Harley saw red._

_She heard something worse._

_“PAMELA LILLIAN ISLEY.”_

_Pam jerked back from Selina like she’d been burned, cheeks so red she looked like a tomato. She threw a frantic glance over her shoulder at the door at the top of the basement stairs. Mrs. Isley stood silhouetted in it, staring down like she was God bringing judgement from the heavens._

_“OUT! ALL OF YOU.”_

_Bruce, Harvey, and Victor scrambled to their feet and up the stairs. When Mrs. Isley so desired, her commands could move four-star generals. Bruce sent a guilty look over his shoulder, pausing at the top of the stairs before Mrs. Isley pushed past him. Selina stood languorously, stretched, and started walking up the stairs._

_“NOT YOU, PAMELA. YOU HAD BETTER SAY YOUR FINAL PRAYERS.”_

_Harley couldn’t stand it. Pam had started crying, silently, one hand balled in a fist in front of her mouth. Suddenly, Harley could see the future laid out before them: years,_ years _of Pam in this house with this mother who thought – even if rightly so – that Pam had just kissed a girl. On purpose._

_Harley couldn’t stand it, and so she lied._

_“MRS. ISLEY!” She yelled, trying to make herself heard without coming across as desperate. The four people left in the room turned towards her – Pam, Mrs. Isley, and Selina, foot raised on the first step. Harley swallowed. “Selina kissed Pam, Mrs. Isley. Pam didn’t do anything. She didn’t want it.”_

_On the stairs, Selina’s eyes narrowed. She mouthed a silent “fuck you” at Harley._

_The switch in Mrs. Isley’s wrath was instant._

_“SELINA KYLE, YOU ABSOLUTE…” Mrs. Isley was sputtering. This was unique in that Harley had never in her life seen Mrs. Isley so much as stutter, much less_ sputter _. “YOU WHORE!” The shriek was earth-shattering._

_Selina did something fancy with herself and somehow managed to duck under Mrs. Isley’s arm, and then she was out of sight as fast as a cat. She did make time to flip Harley off before exiting._

_“Harley,” Mrs. Isley, said, voice suddenly even as a calm sea. If anything, this was more unsettling than a yell. “I would recommend that you leave.”_

_Pam was shaking, knees pulled tight to her chest. The bottle lay abandoned between her and Harley. Somehow, in the ruckus, it had come to rest so that one end pointed to each of them._

_There were many sleepless nights in the weeks following the incident. Harley wasn’t allowed to see Pam before she was shipped off to her camp. The one thought that kept whirling through her mind was that Mrs. Isley had accepted the lie so damn_ easily _– even though Pam had, quite obviously, been leaning across the circle to reach Selina._

_Perhaps the lies you wanted to believe were the only ones you’d accept._

<><><>

Present Day

Pam was thinking about Harley.

That was only natural. Today was the first day of Winter Break, and while Pam knew she had chosen to be here in the lab this morning, distributing food to the rats, she couldn’t help imagining herself if she’d made a different decision. That was the Pam sitting on a Greyhound bus on the way to Littleton – maybe even Foxville, if Selina would be amenable to seeing her. From what Harley had told her, Selina had forgiven them both, but that was still hard for Pam to believe.

She remembered the look on Selina’s face that night. Almost as clearly as she remembered the press of Selina’s lips against hers sparking something that had lain dormant for years.

“Coffee, Pamela?”

She started, glancing over her shoulder. Woodrue looked done up for the day. He was wearing a long white lab coat, glasses sitting evenly instead of askew, and – this was new – gloves. He must’ve been working on particularly delicate specimens today.

And he was holding a cup out to her.

“Apologies, Professor,” she said, putting the rat food away and going to wash her hands, “but I’m not a coffee drinker.”

Woodrue frowned. “You’re being so industrious, Pamela, staying here for the break. The least I can do is get you a drink.”

She lathered her hands, working the soap between her fingers, and shrugged. “Water’s fine if you feel like you really need to, Professor. Did you want me to…”

“Prepare samples from the last experiment,” he filled in. “Rat-hogweed Subject Three died last night.”

Pam frowned. It was only to be expected – Subjects One and Two for that experiment had also perished – but she had been the one to carry out the DNA modifications this time, and the fact that it hadn’t worked stung a little. It would be so much easier if their research relied upon in vivo hybridization rather than altering the genomes of juvenile animals. But Woodrue was particular about how his studies would be conducted, and Pamela wasn’t going to question the very premise of his work.

She was in the middle of dissecting Subject Three, preparing thin sections to be used in the microscopy examination, when Woodrue stopped by again. This time with water.

“Thank you, Professor.” She actually _was_ thirsty this time, and, as her parents would have reminded her, hydration was key to a clear mind and a working body. The black mug he’d given to her featured a classic botanist’s joke. Two leaves were talking to each other – one asked the other “What’s stomata with you?”

It was quite characteristic for Woodrue. She chuckled to herself as she downed half the drink, barely taking the time to look away from her work as she did so.

Strangely enough, Woodrue perched on a nearby lab stool to watch her work. Pam shot a glance his way. “Am I doing everything all right, Professor?” she asked anxiously.

“Thus far, yes. I’ll correct your technique as I see fit.”

Sure, it was a little odd to have him staring at what she was doing, but she supposed it made sense that he wanted to assure the quality of her work.

She didn’t know how much later it had been – at least ten minutes, she thought, though for some reason time was starting to blur – but she was finishing up a delicate dissection of the heart when her hand slipped.

An irregular chunk of heart sheared off of the sample. Pam stifled a curse and made an attempt at redeeming herself, trying to split the chunk down the middle so they could at the very least examine—

Her hand slipped again. She gave herself a thin gash on her other hand this time; blood began to well up as she let the scalpel fall to the dissection tray.

Her fingers were feeling more and more like sausages with each passing second. What had she been trying to do? “Professor,” she tried to say, but even she could tell it came out garbled.

“Pamela?” She couldn’t tell if he sounded concerned. Not that it mattered that much – the room was spinning. She tried to slide off of her stool and fell instead, grasping at the top of the counter as she came down. She snagged the mug, and it came crashing down beside her, cracking open on the smooth linoleum. Her finger left a thin trail of blood on the floor as she drew it to her.

 _Oh,_ she thought _that’s not good. That’s very bad. That’s… that was his mug. You broke his mug, Pamela, what…_

Something must’ve been really wrong, with her vision at the very least, because the little bit of water she’d left in the mug had spilled. And it was _blue_.

Woodrue was walking over to her. Not running, not concerned, just strolling over. The picture of tranquility. She could see his shoes. She was having a hard time looking up; her head swam every time she did.

A thought nagged at the back of her brain. _Dizziness_ , she thought, _confusion… motor control impaired…_

It had turned the water blue.

At some point she’d ended up on her back, Woodrue leaning over her. “Rohypnol,” she muttered, speech slurred.

“Very astute, Pamela,” Woodrue tapped her on the nose. “Rohypnol, or flunitrazepam. Commonly known as a roofie drug.” She felt a spike of terror as he knelt beside her, hooking his arms beneath her – one under her knees, one under her back. Her head lolled to the side as he lifted her. He was… stronger than… stronger than she’d expected. For such a skinny man. She made herself blink a few times, trying to regain control – it was hard.

She was so, so tired. Still, she had to do _something._ So she let her arm fall, let it dangle down towards the floor. She could feel her blood dripping from the scalpel cut onto the floor. _Breadcrumbs for Hansel and Gretel_ , she thought, barely lucid enough to remember why that was important.

“Professor,” she tried to say, and she couldn’t even understand herself.

“Hush now, Pamela,” he said, and he was moving, and _they_ were moving, and all Pam could think was _secondary location, secondary location, warning, warning, don’t let him take you to a secondary location_. She muttered something, and he said again, “hush, Pamela. Go to sleep.”

She didn’t want to, but she couldn’t keep her eyes open.


	10. Experimentally Speaking

Pam woke up panicked.

She didn’t drift back into consciousness like she felt she had been for hours, sliding back and forth between quasi-lucidity and dark, swirling dreams. No, when she woke up for good it was like hitting ice water buck naked and coming up for air. Every nerve screamed at her that she was in _danger_.

She tried to jerk forward and found that she couldn’t move.

She couldn’t tell where she was. It smelled of dirt and chemicals; it was dimly lit at the moment, but she could see several more lights in front of her, not turned on, hooked up to extension cords that ran away into corners she couldn’t see. She took stock of herself; for all intents and purposes, she wasn’t hurt, but she was… she was strapped to a table. Bound at her wrists and ankles, thighs and biceps. And one strap encircled her throat, holding her head steady.

“Fuck,” she said softly, channeling Harley.

“My, my, Pamela, language,” tutted Woodrue from somewhere behind her. So he was back there. Back by the source of the light, she realized.

He didn’t come around in front of her immediately. The more she adjusted to the light and the silence, the more she could hear his activities behind her – it sounded like he was… tinkering.

Pam could make out blackboards in front of her, covered in calculations and formulas, but her brain was still a little sluggish, and she couldn’t figure out what they said. She couldn’t figure out much at _all_ at the moment, except for the fact that she seemed to be underground and her professor was…

To be honest, she’d thought he would’ve… _taken advantage_ of her, given the fucking roofie. But nothing… _hurt_ , down there, and she couldn’t think of any other reason he would have kidnapped her except –

Her eyes tracked over the blackboards again. The formulas. The lines of text she now recognized as ciphered DNA sequences. Calculations for a wide variety of drugs given in mg/kg.

Every single calculation was done to match 61.7 kg.

The number sounded familiar. Pam did some quick mental math.

Oh, _fuck fuck fuck._

That was her weight. Her fucking weight.

<><><>

Harley dialed again, rocking on the porch with an old quilt wrapped around her. Looking out across Littleton as she listened to the phone ringing, she was struck by how peaceful everything seemed this morning. Snow in a light dusting across the land, the footprints of the neighbor’s kid creating a dazzling and confusing pattern in their yard. A few birds twittering. The sun just peeking up over the horizon.

Harley had hated getting up early when she’d been in high school. The alarm had been a nightmare. But ever since she’d married Jay… well. The nights were his, but the mornings were hers alone, and she hadn’t needed an alarm to get her on her feet for a long time.

Pam didn’t pick up. Harley didn’t worry about it. It was… what, the second day of Pam’s Winter Break? And from what Pam had told Harley, Woodrue would be keeping her busy as a bee at the lab.

Harley had been busy too, recently. As soon as Jay left the house today, she’d be off with some clothes she needed to take over to Selina’s house; preparation for the moment she was finally brave enough to do it. Brave enough to file for a divorce like she should’ve as soon as he’d laid a hand on her.

Except… sometimes she wondered if she really should. Sometimes she doubted. He loved her, he really did, and she could _tell_. The way he kissed her…

 _Goddamn,_ Harley thought, putting the phone down, _I’m a fucking fool. A lovesick fucking fool_.

A cardinal alighted on the branch of a tree across the way. Harley smiled as she looked at it – a spot of bright red against the droll landscape. Red. Reminded her of Pam again. How Pam would look tucked up in a puffy white coat, her red hair trailing down her back as she smiled a gleaming, beautiful smile at Harley, her green eyes bright and lovely.

If one thing made her feel good about this divorce, it was the thought that she’d never have to deal with Jay and Pam being in the same room anymore.

Harley got up, tossed the quilt onto the chair, and went inside to cook breakfast.

<><><>

Woodrue tapped the syringe once, then again. It was full of a dark, viscous green liquid that Pam, most absolutely, did _not_ want in her body. Though she might not get much of a choice in the matter.

She watched him warily, considering her options. There was no way she could move, and she knew Woodrue was meticulous enough that wherever he had her, screaming for help wouldn’t be conducive to getting it. It would probably just lead to a greasy rag shoved between her teeth. And if she was gagged, she wouldn’t be able to use her mouth.

At the moment, her mouth was the best weapon she had.

“Professor,” she said, mind flashing over all possible options of what to say. Something he wouldn’t expect; at this point, she doubted pleading would move him. He neared her, raising the syringe. Pam’s mind raced faster. Woodrue was, above all things, a man of logic. So… “Professor, don’t forget to aspirate the needle.”

He paused, the syringe hovering over her arm. Quirked an eyebrow at her. “Why, Pamela, how very conscientious. I would’ve forgotten.” He found a spot he seemed to like on her arm, then paused. “Pamela… it seems you may be more… _cooperative_ than expected. Should I be worried?”

She swallowed shallowly. “No, Professor. It’s simply that I understand what you’re doing, and I find it mutually beneficial if I should help rather than hinder. You’ll be experimenting on me,” she paused, though only very briefly, forcing herself to ignore the absurdity of the thing –“regardless, I presume, of what I do about it. If I help, I give myself longer to live.”

“You are aware,” Woodrue said mildly, “that you’ll end up dying anyway? Even if the results proved promising, your ability to bring the law down on me should I allow you to live makes you a liability to my capacity to continue the research.”

Pam managed to, somehow, crack a smile. “Humans rather prefer to stay alive as long as possible, regardless of the inevitable outcome. Or haven’t you noticed? A quirk of the _Homo sapiens_.”

He tilted his head, considering, and seemed to find no fault in her logic. And… he drew back. There it was – her first victory, albeit a tiny one. “Well,” he said, “that being the case, I’d imagine it would behoove my research if you would describe your sensations throughout this process.”

“But of course,” Pam said, continuing to talk even as he moved behind her, shuffling about through what sounded like papers on his desk. “If in turn you’d be willing to explain exactly what you’re injecting. I can surmise much of it from your blackboards, but I imagine you’ve already added a few hybridizing agents tailored to my DNA?”

He gave a little huff behind her.

Pam waited for a moment, then added, “there’s a good vein in my right arm if you need blood to synthesize them from.”

He puttered around again, with an empty vial this time, and shot her a look that was so devoid of emotion that it took all she had to keep her expression neutral. “You’re entirely correct, Pamela, that hybridizing agents would stabilize the sequence.” He sighed, looking down at her arm, and raised the needle. “What a waste,” he added, “that you’ve got such a brilliant mind.”

She tried to take it as a compliment as the needle slid under her skin, but it still felt like a death sentence.

And yet. If she could keep stalling – undermine whatever he was doing to her, or at least put her mind to minimizing the damage he might cause – maybe she could make him remember she was a human being. She calculated it out in her head as he removed the syringe, half-full of red blood, and returned to the lab space she hated not being able to see. Yes… Pam had a plan.

She estimated her chances at success as less than .01%. After all, kidnappers and murderers, especially intelligent ones, were more often rightly screwed over than not if they let their victims go. She imagined Woodrue would be no different. But still. She had to try.

Because nobody was coming to save her.

<><><>

Harley shifted in bed, trying to get comfortable. Jay’s arm was slung around her as they lay front to back, and she didn’t want to get up. They were having such a good week – ever since she’d started going to Selina’s during the day, he’d gotten better when they were together. She’d have sworn it was a miracle.

Yeah, he still slipped up maybe once every two days, but it was nothing like it had been. Nothing so terrible.

She pushed back into him and allowed herself to think that maybe, just maybe, he was on his way up from out of whatever funk he’d been in since the day he broke the mug. _Instead of a honeymoon phase_ , she thought, _we went straight to the cantankerous couple_. But then again, that could mean that he really _was_ fixing up his act now. Like he’d promised.

She wondered if he knew why she’d been visiting Selina. He’d asked her, once, since she hadn’t been home when he’d come back from work. She’d explained that she was spending time with an old friend, and he hadn’t pried.

Harley yawned. Even that couldn’t bring back the comfortable somnolence she was wishing for. With a sigh, she gently lifted Jay’s arm from her side and slid out from under it, easing off the mattress slowly so it wouldn’t creak. He gave a disgruntled murmur and adjusted under the covers.

Harley went to the kitchen and started some hot water boiling. She opened up her old, beat-up laptop and checked her email.

A few promotional emails. Nothing else was new. Just like it’d been the last few days.

Hmm.

Harley scrolled down, brow furrowing. Something nagged at her thoughts.

There: the last time Pam had emailed, the day before Winter Break started. _Hey Harley. Just wanted to say that I miss you loads. Almost wish I wasn’t staying here, but duty calls. I miss you. Can’t wait to regale you with stories from the lab just so you can ignore all the science terminology and send me your “critical” questions to focus on instead. Speaking of which, in regards to your last one, no, I am not allowed to take any baby rats back home. Go to the pet store like everybody else, daisy. Love you. Pam._

Harley had responded to that with an indignant claim that of _course_ her questions were critical, how dare Pam imply otherwise? To be honest, she’d been distracted when she was writing that reply, thinking about what she needed to bring to Selina’s. She’d been distracted all week, really. So many thoughts running through her head about Jay and Selina. Stay or go. Make it work or make a run for it.

But Pam hadn’t written back.

Harley of all people knew Pam was obsessive about leaving messages unread, heaven forbid not replying within one to two business days. What was the last time Harley had called her? Hadn’t that been the day Winter Break started? No, the day _before_ – Harley had made some stupid joke about Pam being a workaholic and breaking _herself_ rather than taking a break.

She hadn’t heard Pam’s voice since then. God, how hadn’t she _noticed?_

Harley found Emory’s website with a quick search. She found Pam’s hall – Turman, it was Turman, Harley remembered because it was like Truman and she’d made fun of Pam for ending up in a hall that sounded like an off-brand president. There: “complex director,” what a fancy-ass name for the boss of the place.

Harley dialed the number.

Yes, she was told, Pamela Lillian Isley was approved for break stay. When she asked if the woman on the phone had actually _seen_ Pam, though, the answer wasn’t forthcoming.

“Who did you say you were again?”

“Her mother.” Harley did her best impression of a haughty, stuck-up rich lady. “Lillian Isley. Now, director, if you’re declining to help me locate my daughter, I would be most grateful if you would connect me with your superior.”

“That’s quite all right, ma’am,” came the hurried answer. “I’ll check her room myself.” Harley could hear movement on the other end of the phone.

Harley put the phone on speaker and narrowed her eyes at her computer. Hesitating for only a moment, she opened a new search tab and typed in “Ally Oldman.”

Yep. Still missing.

The woman on the phone came back. “She’s not in her room, Mrs. Isley. Didn’t answer when I knocked, and there’s… well, there’s some moldy leftovers in the fridge.”

That was _bad_. Pam was a borderline fanatic when it came to cleanliness. Plants were her style; mold was not. “Director,” Harley said curtly, “expect a missing person report. Should you find my daughter, I would much appreciate you contacting me at this number.” She gave the number. And hung up on the woman giving a panicked reply about the university’s commitment to making sure that each and every Emory student was safe.

Jay came into the kitchen as Harley stared at the phone. “Hey, baby,” he said, looping his arms around her neck from behind and planting a kiss on her forehead.

She waved him away. “Stop that, Jay. Something’s wrong with Pam.”

He blew a raspberry. “ _Pammie?_ Forget Pammie, Harley baby, I’m in the mood for _love_.”

“I’m calling the police.”

“Harley, honey, is the redhead really that—”

“I’m calling the police.”

“You know I hate it when you interrupt—” his voice was rising and she could feel it coming. Harley stood and turned and caught his hand where he’d raised it to strike her. She could feel some unpleasant tension roiling in her stomach.

“Not now, Jay,” she said quietly, “I’m calling the police.”

He seemed to see something new in her gaze. His expression grew ugly, but for the moment… he dropped his hand.

Harley called the Atlanta police and filed her missing person report by phone.

They asked for logistical details first – where Pam lived, who she worked for, her full name and date of birth. Harley gave them. Then a physical description; the officer at the end of the phone listed off what he needed. Harley went through it as best she could. “5 foot 8 inches. 136 pounds. Eighteen years old.” Harley chewed at her fingernails. “Slim. Umm… redhead. Like, super red. Molly Ringwald red. What else did you say?”

“Eye color?”

“Green.” _Green like grass sparkling with dew. Green like the forest at night. A thousand colors of green._

“Any particularly distinguishing features?”

“She could be a fuckin— pardon my language, officer. She could be a model.” Harley drew in a shuddering breath. Anxiety wracked her body; she was pacing up and down their tiny front porch, then through the house – wherever her feet could take her. “If that helps. Oh, and freckles.”

The questions went on and on, and Harley did her best. What Pam had been wearing? She didn’t know. The last time she’d heard from Pam? Day before Winter Break. Last time anyone had _seen_ Pam? Harley couldn’t answer that one.

“Any potential people she would contact? Besides yourself.”

Harley considered Mr. and Mrs. Isley in their big house with their tiny hearts.

“No,” she said quietly, “it’s just me.”

<><><>

Harley took the car.

She didn’t really care if Jay had work later in the day. She needed Selina, and she needed her _now._

She dialed on the way over. By the time she was at the house, Selina was waiting on the porch, wrapped up in a couple of layers. Her breath frosted the air as she exhaled.

“You’re gonna freeze to death, Harley.”

Harley looked down at her arms as she slammed the door of the car shut. Her arms were bare and prickled with goosebumps. And the ghosts of a couple of old bruises. Fancy that. She’d forgotten a coat.

She stalked up the steps. “Selina, listen to me. Bruce is a good detective, right?” Harley remembered him as a kid – those sharp blue Wayne eyes. She remembered a sharp little speech he’d given at his Bar Mitzvah, his family butler standing off to the side, watching proudly. “A really good detective?”

Selina nodded. “He’s young, but yeah. He’s the best.”

Harley bit her lower lip, resolute. “Well, whatever he charges, I’m willing to pay. I don’t care. Something’s wrong.”

Selina reached out a hand and placed it on Harley’s shoulder. The weight of it was almost enough to get Harley to calm down; Selina’s words did it one better.

“I already called him, as soon as I got off the phone with you. He booked the next flight to Atlanta.”

Harley’s eyebrows shot up, then dropped again. She was already calculating how much she could spare from her meager _Bella Burrito_ savings, how much she could convince Jay to pitch in. “What’s he charging?”

“Nothing, Harley,” Selina said, rolling her eyes like Harley was mad for even asking. “For fuck’s sake, it’s _Pam_.”

Harley didn’t know how to explain the weight that had just shifted off her shoulders. Not gone – it was still present, this gripping fear that Pam was in trouble, that something terrible had happened. But now Selina shared that burden. Selina and Bruce.

So, because she could express herself in no other way, Harley threw her arms around Selina and cried.

<><><>

Bruce’s flight touched down only a few hours after Selina had called him. He’d been in D.C., and lucky for him, he’d just put the finishing touches on a case up there. He would’ve said yes to whatever favors Selina asked of him. This time, it was his pleasure. A Wayne took care of his own, and that included the girl he’d lost valedictorian to.

He and Pam had always gotten along, though they’d drifted after that terrible incident at the end of eighth grade. If she needed help, he would give it.

As Bruce stepped onto Emory University’s campus, fully aware that Ally Oldman had disappeared only miles away, he crossed his fingers for luck.

He was good at finding things. Just let this thing be Pamela.

And not her body.


	11. Investigation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to the action, baby.
> 
> If you're an Ivy comics fan, keep your eye out for the Easter egg :)

Ivy drifted in and out of consciousness.

Woodrue was looking at one of her legs, shining a light on it. He was muttering something about her skin changing its pallor; she could almost see what he meant. It looked like she’d gone slightly green, like her entire body had eaten something that hadn’t agreed with it. She tilted her head back and let him do his tests on where her skin color now fell on the visible spectrum, trying to calm down as his fingers skittered across her shin.

She didn’t like being asleep when Woodrue went through with his next injection series or did a swab of her cheek for DNA, since she couldn’t make suggestions on his procedure when she wasn’t conscious – and she was _still_ keeping a mental map of everything he was doing, just in case she needed to tell someone how to fix her if she got out of here (and she knew that was a slim chance, she’d always known it, but hell if she was going to let go of it).

Being awake, however, wasn’t much better.

There were two reasons for that. The first was having to bite out her feelings on both qualitative and quantitative scales as a myriad of foreign chemicals and probes hit her system. “Why yes, Professor, it feels like you’re sticking me with a syringe full of burning lava. Scale? That would be a six on the pain scale compared to the last injection, which, as you’ll remember, left me insensate and screaming for an indeterminate amount of time. Don’t you think you’d better take a break and jerk off to your own scientific genius while I try to recuperate? No? Another blood sample? Whatever you think is best, you fucking asshole.”

So… she didn’t exactly say those things, no matter how much she wished to. Mouthing off to him didn’t align with her strategy. She needed him to believe that keeping her awake was useful. She needed to have time to think.

The second reason being awake was rough was because Pam was pretty sure she was going mad.

Even when he wasn’t actively working on her, even when whatever fever she’d been wracked with as her body tried to adapt to or kill the agents inside her wasn’t flaring up, she could feel… _prickles_ , across her skin. Like little needles of sensation that weren’t quite her own and yet weren’t entirely foreign, either.

And, strangely enough, the sensations had a color.

They felt _green_.

<><><>

The police were doing what the police did when they had a missing person reported. Bruce, on the other hand, was doing what _Bruce_ did, which he considered infinitely better. That, of course, was a matter of opinion, but he wasn’t a consultant on high-profile political cases for nothing. Senators didn’t entrust just anyone to those jobs.

He’d asked Harley for an email with all the information he would need, and she’d sent one along posthaste. Bruce had already studied the Ally Oldman case; now, he was looking into something else.

A hunch. Harley had said Pam was researching with Dr. Jason Woodrue. The police had already called the professor to question him – he’d said that he had been expecting Pam the first day of Winter Break, but when she hadn’t showed up, he’d decided to take a few weeks off of his research. It would be too hard to do his work without an assistant, he’d clarified.

He’d made a comment about Ally Oldman, too, before they’d thanked him for his time and hung up.

Bruce knew he wasn’t supposed to be piggybacking on official calls like that, but he didn’t particularly care. It had been a lead. Harley hadn’t mentioned Pam planning to go anywhere but that lab. If Pam had disappeared on the way, or at the lab before her professor arrived, there might be traces of her presence.

Bruce walked from Turman Hall to the building housing Pam’s lab, then backtracked, double-checking. Nothing stood out – then again, she’d been gone for a week, and that was long enough for whoever had taken her to cover their tracks.

He found a back entrance to the lab building and made quick work of the lock. Lockpicking had been one of his habits since he was young; Alfred used to time him when he asked. It certainly came in handy in his current profession.

The halls were all dark, but Bruce noticed the red dot of active security cameras in several corridors as he made his way toward the stairs. Their labeling system was strange – he shone his penlight over numbers on the first floor, noting that they were all marked 002 or 045. He would’ve expected that from a basement, not a ground floor, he thought, ascending to the second floor.

Lab 181 – Professor Jason Woodrue. Locked again. Bruce checked out the hall first, flicking on the light switch and looking for anything on the floor. He only gave it a quick once-over before picking the lock on the lab door and letting himself in.

The lab was pristine. Rats scurried at the edges of their cages; some food was left atop them. Woodrue must still be coming in to feed his subjects. Bruce found Pamela’s workspace almost immediately – her notebook sat atop it, in line with the edge of the black lab table.

Slipping gloves on, he flipped it open. She seemed to have been keeping notes each of her days in the lab – every day she’d worked, she’d had an entry. Each was at the very least joined by how many hours she’d spent, though some had additional notations or sketches of magnified cells in the margins. She signed out each time, too.

Bruce flipped through until he found the last time she’d signed in. The day before Winter Break. _Nothing new there_ , he thought, going to flip the notebook closed.

Except – there. On the next page. A tiny slip of paper like the ones left when someone tore a sheet out, the holes of the spiral still evident along its edge.

Bruce frowned. He checked the front of the notebook: 100 sheets.

He counted them all.

There were 99.

Someone had torn out a sheet. And not just any sheet – the next page, where Pam would’ve written her notes for the day Winter Break began.

Had she started that sheet? Had her kidnapper removed it to make it look like she hadn’t made it to the lab?

Bruce dropped to his stomach and checked the floor, sharp eyes roaming about. Nothing, nothing… there. He reached under Pamela’s workspace and plucked the tiny shard off the ground, lifting it to his eye to get a better look.

It could’ve been nothing, could’ve been just a piece of detritus someone had tracked in, but it looked like black ceramic. No broken beaker had left that shard behind. It must’ve been something else.

Bruce kept low to the ground, examining the linoleum with his penlight as he got closer to the door. If there had been a struggle, if the perp had cleaned up afterward, Bruce probably wouldn’t get much. Except…

He fished around in his pocket, pulling out a little utility pack. He grabbed a sewing needle, thin and shining. And he got to work.

It took a long time. He painstakingly drew the needle through every seam in the linoleum squares around Pam’s workspace, bringing up only dirt. But when he got to a spot near the door, something changed.

To be precise, something _flaked_.

Flaked out of the seam as he pushed it, instead of crumbling like the dirt he’d been finding.

He went at that area more carefully, and there it was: blood. Dried blood, likely not more than a droplet. From the diameter that had stayed in the seam, it’d been dropped from a few feet off the ground.

Bruce nodded to himself, left the lab and its buildings, and promptly hacked into the University’s security feeds. He could clearly see Pam leaving the lab the night before Winter Break. He kept watching until Woodrue left, too.

About an hour after that into the security tapes, the footage blipped.

Bruce doubted the cops would’ve noticed it. But he recognized a looped tape when he saw it.

On a hunch, he searched out footage from Turman’s security cameras. There she was, up bright and early, leaving her dorm the morning of the break. Headed, it seemed, towards the lab.

He was sure of it. Pam had made it to the lab that morning.

It seemed it was time to look more closely into Professor Jason Woodrue.

<><><>

Bruce looked at the Atlanta missing persons list, scrolling down fast. Almost so fast he missed it.

It wasn’t Ally Oldman’s case that caught his eye, but that of a girl with blonde hair and glasses, smiling at the camera. Zelda Higgins. She had gone to Emory as a graduate student before disappearing off the map near the beginning of the school year. Emory hadn’t made a fuss about it; she’d dropped out of school before her boyfriend reported her missing, which meant it was only a PR-scandal-that-could-have-been.

He didn’t care as much about her boyfriend or her education. He cared about where she’d been working as a graduate student. The lab of – of course – Dr. Jason Woodrue.

A good detective knew when to call for backup. Bruce picked up his phone and dialed 911.

<><><>

Sun dappled her skin, and Pam’s eyes opened as her breath hitched.

No. Still here, underground, skin cool and apparently – based on Woodrue’s last comment – a little green around the gills.

He didn’t seem to be down here now. Pam shut her eyes and tried to pull back that feeling of sun. There it was: she felt it, beams of sunlight descending from the sky as she swayed. _She_ swayed? No, it was something else swaying.

How very, very odd. She could’ve sworn she could feel a… a lawn above her head. Feel the dull warmth of light on the blades of grass. Even – she winced – feel footsteps leaving depressions as they came towards the door.

She must’ve been making it up, she thought –

And then hinges creaked behind her, and light streamed into the room as Woodrue entered.

Pam frowned. She must’ve been more observant than she’d given herself credit for in this state, to be able to hear him from where she was bound. She wasn’t going to give credence to the thought that the hybridization was working – at least, not to this extent.

He seemed to sense that she was awake. “You know, Pamela,” Woodrue said, pulling a stool around so he could sit in front of her, “I’m quite impressed.”

She swallowed. “How so?” His elbows were resting on his knees, his hands hanging loose; odd, but she thought she could see… _burns_ , on his palms. Or maybe rashes, the red of them curling up around the backs of his hands.

“Your contributions have been quite helpful,” he explained. “You see, I’d assumed you’d be dead by now. The others only lasted a few days. For you, it’s been what?”

“I’ve lost count,” she said flatly.

“Seven. Almost eight,” he provided. “You’re a marvel, Pamela. You’re going to win me my Nobel Prize.”

 _Wait. Backtrack. Something he said._ “The others?”

“You must’ve figured out by now that Zelda and the Oldman girl were here before you,” Woodrue commented, rising and heading behind her. He paused. “Did you really think you were the first?”

Something must’ve been _really_ messed up in Pam’s head, because for an instant she was almost sorry she’d disappointed him by not figuring it out sooner. She gritted her teeth. “I suppose I had hoped so.”

She could almost hear Jack’s harsh laugh as he taunted her about being right. She hadn’t listened to Harley. She’d ended up like Ally Oldman, after all.

“Today I’m taking a skin sample,” Woodrue said, rummaging around. “It seems you’re becoming… an irritant.”

 _Heavens forbid I cause you a little pain,_ Pam thought as he came around in front of her with a scalpel. She closed her eyes. Skin sample? Sure, it’d hurt, but she was going to die here anyway.

_Stop it, Pam. You gotta keep stalling. You gotta try._

That wasn’t her voice.

It was Harley’s.

Pam opened her eyes, and her voice came out honey-sweet. “Wouldn’t you get more salient initial results with a cheek swab, Professor? You could test the skin afterward if my saliva yielded the expected toxicity levels.”

Woodrue sighed. “Right again, Pamela. Apologies. I’ve been rather sleep-deprived since we began our work.”

_Oh my fucking God. Can you believe how self-centered this arrogant prick is, Pam? Reminds me of Harvey’s sixth-grade stint as a dickhead. Remember how I punched some sense back into him?_

Yes, Pam remembered – Harley’s fist connecting with Harvey’s jaw when he’d made fun of Pam’s library book pick. She’d checked out a book on plants instead of a fantasy novel. That was before Harvey had gotten to be their friend, shortly after the Dent family had moved to Littleton.

Pam considered as she opened her mouth for the swab. If she had to lose her sanity, she didn’t particularly mind if it was in the form of extra company. Especially if that company was Harley’s.

Pam would likely never see her again.

That thought sent something dull and aching through her stomach. Something that pounded darkly with each heartbeat. Something terrible.

Pam wanted to throw up.

“All right, Pamela, it’s –”

Woodrue paused. Pam heard it, too – the dim _bring bring_ of a doorbell.

“A moment, my dear,” Woodrue said, and she heard his feet thumping away from her. She closed her eyes and pretended she was the grass again, pretended she could feel his steps – and the pressure of three pairs of feet in the front yard. Waiting.

She bit her lower lip, because she was terribly anxious that what she was feeling was hope.

<><><>

Bruce tailed the police to Woodrue’s – they took an unmarked brown car to keep from spooking the man, but Bruce still worried they would screw this up. If Woodrue really had killed Ally Oldman and Zelda Higgins without being found out, it meant he was smart. Smart, and good at leaving no witnesses.

So while the three officers waited for Woodrue to answer the door, Bruce took his own path through the neighbor’s backyard and vaulted over into Woodrue’s.

It was a rather scruffy backyard, with a variety of garden instruments strewn about. Though the thick green grass that carpeted it was a pleasant surprise – it meant Bruce’s steps were quiet as he walked towards the back door – he also worried that he’d step on a rake or something equally comical and disastrous to his stealth if he wasn’t careful. He could hear the front door opening, one of the officers beginning to talk, and he paused on the back step, turning to glance at the garden again.

Perhaps it would be best to check the old shed, first. It stood tall and rickety, its secrets safe inside. There seemed to be a root cellar, too, half-hidden in the corner of the yard with a few garden tools leaned up against it – but it looked like it hadn’t been opened in years, not with that rusty old chain looped over top of it. Not compared to the shiny new padlock keeping the shed shut.

Bruce headed for the shed, listening to the officers at the front as he walked. Wouldn’t do for them to leave him with no backup.

Because he had a hunch, and when Bruce had a hunch, it was usually the right one.

He picked the padlock and opened the shed, wincing as it creaked.

 _Oh_. Nothing in there after all – just a few bottles of what looked like household chemicals and an old gardening trowel impaled in the ground.

He turned and began to walk back towards the house.


	12. The Cellar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, the metahumanity!

Pam could feel whoever was in the backyard. It wasn’t Woodrue; the steps were too deliberate to be his, tracing over ground she’d never felt him cover. Whoever it was came almost directly over top of her at one point.

She still didn’t know if what she was feeling was a hallucination or real – she supposed it wasn’t the most unlikely side effect of the hybridization experiments she’d been undergoing, after all – but for the time being, she let herself believe that she could actually feel the grass and the person walking over it.

The person who paused before coming to her, and turned away.

Pam screamed.

She hadn’t tried yelling for help before, because she’d assumed wherever she was was secure; Woodrue didn’t seem one to take chances. In fact, she’d almost forgotten that she could use her voice, once more, as a weapon. So she _screamed._ As loud and agonized a scream as she could make it. She imagined her yell punching up through the ground, stopping the person in their tracks.

They couldn’t hear her. She knew because she could _feel_ them walking towards the house, and oh, it made her _desperate_ , it struck her to her _soul_ that they could come _so close_ and not feel her riot of emotions radiating up from below.

 _Pam-a-lamb_ , Harley said, _pull yourself together. Do what you can. Do something funky with it._

_With what?_

_Easy, silly. Something with the grass_.

Pam swallowed. She clenched her hands into fists. And she reached up to the blades of grass the person was stepping across and grabbed hold.

It hurt. It hurt her _brain_ to be doing this, and her head slammed back into the table with the sheer effort of it.

But as she sweated, as she pushed, she thought she could feel it. And maybe it was worth it, because—

The grass twitched.

<><><>

Bruce tripped.

He landed smoothly, his arms breaking his fall, and looked back at his foot with surprise. He hadn’t thought there were any gardening tools –

And there weren’t. No, it looked like the grass _itself_ had wrapped around his foot.

He looked at it quizzically, then yanked his foot free with a shake of his head. He was probably more sleep-deprived than he’d thought, if he was seeing things like this. He needed to go take a look at Woodrue’s basement before—

 _Hmm_ … _that’s… unusual._

The grass in front of his eyes was shrinking back, leaving empty dirt in its wake. It was creating a path. Leading to…

That old abandoned cellar.

Okay, so Bruce didn’t believe in the supernatural. But if a bunch of dead girls were going to lead him to their killer’s next victim, he could see them choosing to do it this way. Even if it was just his eyes playing tricks on him, it was worth trying.

He walked towards the cellar.

Up close, he could see that the chain wasn’t actually secured; the rusted metal _looked_ like it hadn’t been moved for ages, sure, but he’d missed that it was hooked around the edge of the cellar doors – one could unhook it and pull it back easily enough while still giving the impression that the cellar had been closed for ages.

Bruce glanced over his shoulder and listened for a moment. He could still hear the officers talking. Good – that bought him some time.

He drew the chain back and lifted one of the cellar doors, then the other, leaving them to lay splayed open like the ribs of a beast as he peered down into the darkness. It smelled of dirt and salt. He could see what looked like the first of several steps leading down – shooting one last glance toward the house, he pulled his flashlight off of his belt and flicked it on, descending by its illumination.

He was so focused on not tripping that it wasn’t until he stepped off of the bottom of the stairs that he saw her.

She was secured to what looked like a dentist’s chair – set at the moment more like a table, tilted away from the cellar doors. Her hair lay matted and dark with grime against her shoulders; she looked fairly dead, her eyes closed and her chest still.

It didn’t change what he did next. He already had his walkie talkie in his hand – he was running on the same wavelength as the cops, though they didn’t know it. He called them to the back of the house, to the cellar, and told them to get an ambulance.

He didn’t think it would help, of course.

 _God,_ he thought, standing over her. He glanced behind her – an entire table set up by Woodrue, covered in half-full syringes, microscopes, and glassware. _God,_ he thought again, looking down at her – at her sunken cheeks, the marks of a needle left on the insides of her arms, the strange grey-green pallor of her skin.

He should’ve accepted it as soon as he came to Atlanta, that she could be dead – but… he made himself say her name. _Pamela_ was from _Littleton_. They’d grown up in the same town, taken the same AP classes. She was vivacious and narcissistic and kind and now she was _dead_ and—

_Oh._

And she was breathing.

Little, shallow breaths, like someone who’d just run a marathon and couldn’t get up the energy to gasp. He wouldn’t have noticed if not for the hitch in her chest.

“Pamela?”

<><><>

She felt like she’d just been steamrollered by a Zamboni.

The amount of effort she’d put into what she’d done with the grass… it’d been colossal. She didn’t know how she’d managed it.

She also decided, as she cracked her eyes open to the face floating above her – a face that was blessedly _not_ Woodrue’s – that she was probably in the afterlife. There was no way in hell that Bruce Wayne would logically be standing above her, looking like he was seeing a ghost. In fact, it almost looked like he had black bat wings from where she lay, based on the shadows his flashlight was giving off – maybe he was supposed to be standing in for a devil.

“Pamela,” he said – and had he said it before? Had that been why she’d opened her eyes? She assumed it must’ve been.

She summoned the energy to lick her lips and croak out, “Bruce.”

That was enough for now. Maybe for ever. Oh – but she needed to warn him. She’d seen those burns on Woodrue’s hands, and it made her nervous. “My skin… poison.”

And then, for the first time in too long, she closed her eyes in the presence of someone she trusted and let him take it from there.

<><><>

_Pam was sitting in the middle of a sunny meadow, the pleated green skirt of the dress she was wearing spread across her lap. Harley had gotten an old camera – probably from Goodwill – for her birthday, and she had immediately staked a claim to Pam’s afternoon. “Every great photographer needs a muse,” she’d announced, “and you’re mine, Pam-a-lamb.”_

_Pam had simply laughed and agreed._

_The dress was Harley’s choice. She liked the way it wrapped around Pam’s edges, softening them with swirls of evergreen dappling the lighter base shade. She circled Pam, playing around with the focus for shots that caught the ridge of Pam’s knuckles or the glint of her smile._

_When Harley got the one – the shot she’d never be able to beat, the picture that made her think she should probably give up any photography dreams because she’d never take a better one – she knew it._

Harley had the crumpled, tiny photo out of her wallet. Pam was laughing, her head tossed back, her profile outlined by the halo of the sun behind her. Harley could almost hear the cicadas buzzing, feel the sunlight on her skin. Pam was looking at the photographer – at Harley. The photo’s age hadn’t faded the way Pam was looking at the camera. The pure, unadulterated happiness of a teen with her whole life ahead of her.

It was the kind of photo Harley could imagine at the top of an obituary.

“Harley, we’re taking a couple’s night tonight – just got us reservations in Foxville.” Jay was leaning against the side of the doorway, ruffling his green hair. It was getting blonde around the roots; he’d be dying it again soon.

“I haven’t heard anything about the investigation,” Harley said, tucking the photo back in her wallet and lying back on the bed. The mattress sagged with her in the middle. _We should probably get a new one soon,_ Harley thought, and then corrected herself – she wasn’t sure there was going to _be_ a “we” in the relationship for very much longer.

Jay shrugged. “She’s probably dead in a ditch somewhere. You and I are going to dinner.”

Harley sat straight up, tears already prickling in the corners of her eyes. “ _Dead in a ditch?_ ”

“Baby, don’t take it the wrong way—”

“I’m not going to dinner. I’m waiting here.” Harley stabbed a finger down at the floor. She was seeing red. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the enjoyable, green-eyed kind. “Until Bruce or the police or _someone_ calls, I’m waiting _here_.”

They stared at each other, in a silent standoff, as the seconds ticked by.

The phone rang, breaking the silence. Jay raised an eyebrow. “Speak of the devil,” he said, but Harley was too busy scrambling for the phone to care.

“Harley,” Bruce’s voice was tense. “We found her.”

“Alive?”

“Yes.”

Harley closed her eyes, thanking whatever deity might exist in the world. She’d been… well, she’d certainly been prepared for the worst. “It was her professor,” Bruce clarified. “He had her in his cellar. He was doing… experiments. He confessed. From what we can tell, he took her because she was from a small town – he knew her relationship with her parents was suboptimal and assumed he would be done with her before she was reported missing. Harley,” Bruce paused, then added, “you saved her life.”

Harley had never seen Jason Woodrue in all eighteen years she had been on this earth. She would not have hesitated, in that moment, to murder him in cold blood. She wondered if Bruce could hear it in her voice, the anger simmering in her tone. “I’ll do more than that, Bruce, I’ll kill the bastard.”

“Too late,” Bruce said. “He succumbed to acute poisoning while in police custody. He’s in a coma. They don’t expect him to survive the night.”

 _“What?_ ”

“The experiments on Pam… they had some unique side effects. She’s in Arkham Memorial Hospital now.”

That answered none of the questions crowding Harley’s mind. In fact, it simply provided more confusion. “She’s in the hospital?” An image of Pam came to Harley’s mind, unbidden. Tubes snaking in and around her as she lay on the white hospital bed, fragile and hurting. “Can I talk to her?”

“She’s fighting,” Bruce said. The line was silent for too long. “They don’t know how to monitor her progress. Like I said… side effects. She’s alive, though.” He didn’t say _for now_ , but Harley could feel it in his tone.

“Thank you. Thank you, Bruce,” Harley whispered, and she hung up.

Jay waited. “So?”

“I’m going to Atlanta,” Harley announced.

Jay tossed back his head and laughed, a high-pitched, hyena’s laugh. Like it was the funniest fucking thing he’d ever heard in his _life_. He wiped nonexistent tears from his eyes as he looked back at Harley. “No way you’re serious, baby.”

“Dead serious.”

Jay frowned. “Harley, you’re staying here with me. Obviously. Atlanta is far too far away.”

“Pam needs me,” Harley said flatly.

“ _I_ need you.”

Harley threw her hands in the air. “Oh my _God_ , Jay, my best friend was just kidnapped by a fucking serial killer! A mad scientist dude who did who knows what crazy sorts of experiments on her. She’s in the _hospital_ and they don’t know if she’s even gonna make it!” She was really building up steam, now. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d shouted at Jay, really yelled at him, but she was getting there now. “Sometimes you’re just so fucking _selfish!”_

His face was the calm before a storm, and she knew it was that comment – that final comment – that was going to set him off.

“Harley,” he said, tone incredibly even, “I’d suggest you apologize, and do so promptly.”

She could’ve. Perhaps she even _should_ have. But instead: “Go to hell, Jay. It’s the truth. You and I both know I’m going. She means more to me than—”

“Than us,” Jay filled in. “More than your fucking _husband_.”

 _More to me than the world_ , Harley thought as his hand closed tight around her wrist.

<><><>

Pam hurt.

It wasn’t just that her veins sometimes felt like they were burning, that she could still feel the ghostly remnants of needles tracking across her skin if she let herself slip back to that cellar. She’d torn out her hospital IV a few times now, she thought, though she was never quite conscious enough to remember if she’d meant to.

No, it wasn’t just that. As soon as she was out of the cellar, as soon as her body slipped up – as soon as it thought it didn’t have to be in survival mode anymore – the effects of the hybridization sent shivers up her spine. Knowing what had happened to her – what was _still happening_ to her – didn’t help at all. She was still wracked with sudden chills and hot spells, spikes of awareness at how the trees outside were feeling today. Her body was reckoning with what it had undergone, and it was _not_ pleasant.

Sometimes, she thought about letting go. Just slipping into the darkness at the corners of her mind, where it was safe, and not coming out.

But though Harley’s voice was fading, it _was_ still present, and sometimes Pam even got a glimpse of blonde hair or blue eyes when she was lucid enough to focus on anything. “ _Buck up, Pam-a-lamb,”_ Harley ordered, her smile sunny and sharp. A smile that told Pam it wasn’t her choice whether she wanted to buck up or not. “ _You’re not dying today_.”

That was common, that phrase: “You’re not dying today.”

Another, which made Pam positive that the Harley voice was coming from somewhere deep in her subconscious, was “ _hold on, Red. You’ve got to make it long enough to stick it to your parents_.”

It took her an indeterminate amount of time – she later learned it was nearly a week – to regain full consciousness. Bruce was sitting beside her bed, leafing through a puzzle book, his pencil flashing across the pages.

“Bruce.”

He looked up and raised an eyebrow. “Pam. You’re back.”

She closed her eyes. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You don’t have to. Well,” he added, obviously too well-bred not to accept her gratitude, “I certainly appreciate it. But don’t credit me entirely.”

“What?” She opened her eyes again and glanced his way. He didn’t look up from his puzzles.

“That grass was there and then it wasn’t.” He flipped a page. “I looked into Woodrue’s work. Hybridization of mammal and plant, is that right? And what you said when I found you – you said, ‘my skin, poison.’”

Pam looked down at her arms. She hadn’t truly been able to tell what was real and what was her own imaginings in the cellar, but here in the light streaming through the wide hospital window she could see her skin well enough.

It was green. A deep, pure green, from the tips of her fingers to her chest. She imagined that if she could stand to look in a mirror, she’d see it all over.

“The doctors know about the toxicity of your skin,” Bruce commented, “but I’ve kept what happened with that grass to myself.”

“Woodrue?”

“Dead.” Pam wondered if she should’ve felt angry – angry that he couldn’t face justice for what he’d done, that she wouldn’t be able to stare him in the eyes and gloat that she’d survived, after all – but she only felt relieved.

“Dead from me,” Pam said. It wasn’t even a question.

“Yes,” Bruce confirmed, “Dead from you.”

 _Legit_ , Harley said in the back of Pam’s head.

“Bruce, I need a phone.”

“To call Harley?” His gaze flicked toward her for an instant before he returned to his puzzle, a smile tugging up the side of his mouth.

“Naturally,” Pam said, “but first, there’s something I need to tell my parents.”


	13. Come Out and Say It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pam-a-lamb being the bomb.com

“ _THEY DID WHAT?_ ”

This was not Harley’s first outburst of the call. The first had been a profane stream of descriptive ways in which Harley would have murdered Professor Jason Woodrue if Pam hadn’t already accidentally taken it into her own hands, so to speak. As strange as it seemed, it felt as if Pam’s heart was slowly healing with each gruesome, hypothetical homicide that dropped from Harley’s lips.

Harley had finally gotten off that subject. Just in time for Pam to drop news that was somehow even more pressing.

“Yes,” she confirmed, “they disowned me.”

“Pam,” Harley sputtered, “you’re in the _hospital._ ”

“Which, incidentally, they are refusing to pay for. Now that I’m no longer their daughter.” Pam adjusted the phone and shifted in her hospital bed. “I was going to try to check myself out as soon as I heard – I knew I didn’t have the money to pay for all this treatment myself – but Bruce had the bill covered before I could even get a nurse in the room.” She glanced at the empty chair across the room. Bruce had gone out to give her a little privacy with her calls, but otherwise he’d been there ever since it all went down.

She wondered if he could tell how comforting it was. He probably could; he was a detective, after all. Reading people was what he did.

Harley frowned. Pam could feel it, even over the phone. “Pam-a-lamb,” Harley said, “ _why?”_

And here it was. The confession.

Strangely enough, it mattered more to Pam now that she had to say it to Harley than it had when it had only been her parents hearing about it. She considered. It was probably, she thought, because she cared about her relationship with Harley so much more than she did for the one she shared with her mother and father.

“Petal, do you remember the incident in eighth grade? When I… when I kissed Selina?”

Harley gave a little sharp intake of breath. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

“Remember how I was supposed to go to a science summer camp? How excited I was?” Pam still remembered it – the anticipation that had been building ever since she’d been accepted to the camp earlier in the year. It was to be her first summer away from her parents. It was to be glorious.

“No offense meant, Pam, I know it was a long time ago, but I _was_ a little disappointed that you didn’t write.” Harley’s tone was playful. “I was looking forward to hearing you geek out about botany and chemistry and doing sciency things.”

“That’s exactly it,” Pam said, chewing on the end of a fingernail. She’d thought she’d kicked that habit years ago, but here it was again, a nervous tic. “I _wasn’t_ doing sciency things.”

“What?”

“Harley,” Pam sighed. “They sent me to a conversion camp instead.”

The disappointment, the fear – the memory of that moment had never abandoned her. The moment when her parents had announced that she could leave the books she’d purchased at the science camp’s behest in her room, because she wouldn’t be needing them. That she needed to make sure her sins were purged before she could move on with her life.

“That fucking sucks dick.” _Harley_ , Pam thought, smiling a little, _you are as eloquent as always._ She could hear the undercurrent of anger in Harley’s voice. She wondered how much of it was because Pam herself had kept it a secret for so long.

Well. That was nothing to what was coming up next.

“You know I’m good at pretending, Harl.” Pam thought about all the times she’d slipped into the mask of high society at her parents’ banquets, smiling false smiles and making conversation like she’d been born to it. “But when I was on that table with Woodrue standing over me… I thought I was going to die, and I was… I was disappointed in myself.

“See, Harl, I didn’t get to say what I thought was truly important to my parents.”

“So?” It was more encouraging than accusatory – Harley was still deeply engaged. Pam almost wished she wasn’t listening half so well.

Pam closed her eyes and bit her lower lip for just a moment before she made herself say it. “So they disowned me because I called them when I woke up in this hospital bed and told them they’d failed. Their camp didn’t work; _nothing_ they did to me after that ever worked, because you can’t change how you’re born, and Harley, I told them very calmly and clearly the truth about me.” Pam took a deep breath, and almost laughed when she said it. The kicker. “I told them that I’m undoubtedly, 100% a lesbian.”

The silence over the phone felt like it was sitting where Bruce had been, all too present and, unlike him, unwelcome.

Was this the moment Pam lost her best friend?

And then…

“Oh my God,” Harley said, her tone almost breathy, “that’s fucking _amazing_.”

“What?”

“You are the bravest fucking person I have ever met, Pam. I’m getting a divorce.”

This was not a combination of sentences that Pam would’ve expected. Now or ever.

Harley seemed to sense her confusion. “If you can be brave enough to tell your homophobic parents you’re gay _right after_ escaping a fucking _serial killer_ , I can go through with this… this _separation_.” Harley paused – it sounded like she was rummaging around with something. “Hang in there, Pam, ‘cause as soon as I get this done, I’m coming to Atlanta, baby!”

“Harley—”

“Trust me,” Harley added, “you’ll be ever so impressed by my bedside manner. Love you, Pam-a-lamb.”

She hung up.

It wasn’t a hanging up that made Pam feel mistreated or ignored. Rather, she was left feeling… warm.

Complete.

Harley was coming, and by the sound of it, nothing could stop her.

<><><>

Harley had her duffel half-packed by the time she hung up on Pam. She’d moved a lot of her stuff to Selina’s already – surreptitiously, of course. But now there was a fire lit inside her – not the all-consuming flames Jay had inspired, the heat that had once threatened to blot out her view of the world. This was a fire spurring her to _action_.

She couldn’t stop thinking about what Pam had said. _Legitimately_ , Harley thought, throwing her toothbrush into a Ziploc and tossing it into the duffel, _the bravest fucking person._ She wondered if she had come across as flippant. She hoped not. And hoped she hadn’t sounded sarcastic, either; she really, truly believed it. Bravest fucking person.

She’d been hesitant after her last argument with Jay. He’d grabbed her arm and twisted, and a few of the muscles were still sore, but in the aftermath he’d been _so_ gentle and sweet that she’d thought it might be worth staying a little bit longer, if only to bask in his attention and love for just a while more.

But… no. The next time he grabbed her arm, he might break it. This was not what she’d signed up for when they’d gotten married.

She left him a note – wrote it out longhand and signed with a little heart over the “i” in her last name. She didn’t hesitate, didn’t mince words, just told him that she couldn’t let him hurt her heart or her body anymore. That it was over.

She didn’t tell him where she was going, but she _did_ say she was getting a restraining order and that he shouldn’t try to follow. She added that she might get in touch in a little while, once things had settled down a bit.

Unfortunately, there were no buses headed for Atlanta until two days from now. It wouldn’t be a problem, Harley thought; she could get a ticket and spend the extra time settling in at Selina’s. She called Selina before she left Jay’s cabin – Maggie picked up, her voice piping over from the other end of the phone.

“Heeeeeeeeey, Harley.”

“Hi, Maggie. Can you tell your sister I’m coming?”

“To go job-searching again?”

“No,” Harley said, breathing deep, “coming for good.”

It sounded like someone covered the phone’s microphone before yelling a slightly muffled, “SELINA, SHE’S LEAVING THE BASTARD!” and giving an ungodly, exultant screech. Maggie returned to the phone. “That’s very exciting, Harley,” she said, her tone entirely even.

She reminded Harley of Selina.

“All right, then,” Harley said, “I’ll see you as soon as I can get over to Foxville later today, okay?”

“We’ll make extra for dinner,” Maggie assured her. “See you then, Harley.”

Harley slung her bag over her shoulder and cast one last look around the cabin. For a while, at least, it had been her home. All of Jay’s tchotchkes, the baubles he’d given her. Harley paused, looking down at her hand, and then pulled the gold band off of her ring finger.

He’d understand. All of this… it didn’t mean she didn’t love him… but for now, she thought, they needed a break. A legally enforced break.

Pam was on her mind when she left the house and let the screen door slam shut behind her.

<><><>

She filed for divorce first; after that, all it took was showing the finger-shaped bruises on her arm to Harvey, who was working as a rookie cop, to get directions on how to file a restraining order. She let the law take it from there and headed out into the sunshine.

Sure, it was a bit of a trek to Foxville, but she actually considered walking the whole way before realizing Jay might see her. Instead, she took a seat at the bus stop and waited. When she finally _did_ get to Foxville, though, she traipsed around for a bit before making her way to Selina’s place.

How strange. She hadn’t talked to Selina since she found out Pam was alive.

The night flew by quickly. Harley thanked Selina profusely for getting Bruce on Pam’s case; they talked about serial killer professors and the merits of film portrayals of mad scientists. Selina made a rather dark comment at one point about what she might do to any such person who tried to lay a hand on Maggie.

“Not kill him,” she noted, “but, you know, ruin his life first. Dox him, make him scared of his own shadow, steal every single item of value he cares for. _Then_ kill him.”

“Selina,” Harley said solemnly in between bites of mac and cheese, “you are one scary woman.”

“I would’ve loved to see _your_ face when you heard about Pam,” Selina retorted, pointing a fork at Harley. “Betcha you looked ready to rain hell on that professor.”

Harley shrugged. “You got me. I would’ve done _unspeakable_ things to that man.”

Maggie giggled darkly.

A little after dinner, as she was pulling her covers up beneath her chin, Harley thought about Jay.

She couldn’t help herself. He would be home by now. He would’ve read the note.

She wondered if he would be able to acknowledge what he’d done wrong, or if he would just be hurt and confused and spend all night tearing out his green hair in clumps. If what she’d done would be a torment to him.

And then she thought of the weeks when she’d felt like a mouse, terrified that one wrong move or offhand squeak would set him off, and reminded herself that there was a reason she hadn’t told him where she’d gone.

Still.

She wondered what he’d done. If he’d yelled, or cried, or gotten piss-drunk. Had he gone back to work to ease away from his sorrows? Had he gotten in the car and driven just for the hell of it, not knowing where he would end up and not caring, either? Had he stayed in bed and wallowed in her smell on the sheets, promising the empty air that he would do better, that he was sorry?

Harley reached up to flick off the light and wondered absently where he was now.

<><><>

As it turned out, she would not have been happy to know the answer to that question, given that where Jay was now boiled down to “across the street from Selina’s place.” He watched the light in one of the windows go out and shifted in the car’s seat.

He was drunk, that much was certain, and angrier than a bull in a poppy field. But even drunk, Jay was patient.

So he watched the house, and he thought about Harley, and he waited.


	14. Bloom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news for those who have been burned by unfinished WIPs in the past - I just completed the story. It comes in at 25 chapters and about 68,000 words, so while I'll likely be keeping to the same update schedule, there's no chance of not finishing it now!
> 
> In more solemn news, Harley's got something to worry about...

Harley hadn’t thought that a mattress on a floor could be so homey.

Sure, she’d slept on worse – back when Ma was out of work and Pops sold all the bedframes in the house and a mattress or two to a nice couple from Foxville. The whole family had slept rough for weeks, Harley at first piled up in the same bed with her little brothers left and right. She’d decided after a couple nights of that situation that it just wouldn’t do. Instead of staying in the packed bed, she’d slipped out from under the covers every night and used a sleeping pad Pam lent her.

She’d told Pam she wanted it for camping and then felt so terrible about the lie that she’d admitted the truth the next day. Pam let her keep the sleeping pad after Harley declined an offer to stay at Pam’s place as long as she needed.

Sure, her heart wanted to, but as always, the pride of a Quinzel doth protest.

The mattress Selina had set up in her front room was just loads better. Selina had decked it out in rainbow sheets with butterflies sprinkled across their cotton print. (A holdover from Maggie’s childhood, Selina had explained, a mischievous smirk alighting on her face. Harley supposed it was the thought of a grown woman sleeping in such bedding.)

To be honest, Harley didn’t mind. The sheets were clean and smelled like grass after rain (Harley would have to ask Selina the type of detergent she used, as the scene reminded her pleasantly of Pam) and she was perfectly warm under a couple of thick blankets. The top one was covered in pills of fabric that she plucked off and rolled between her fingers as she lay there in the dark.

And yeah, sure, maybe it was homey _because_ it reminded her of those days in the Quinzel household. All the nice memories and none of the stinky brothers looping arms and legs over her in their sleep or snoring up a storm.

She’d been paranoid ever since she left the cabin that Jay was going to come after her, and somehow knowing mentally that she was safe in this place hadn’t been enough. But the combination of the bed’s warmth and the smell and the fact that she knew where all the exits were was… well, kinda hypnotizing. Before she really knew what had hit her, Harley let the comfort of the bed eclipse her worry.

She fell asleep.

<><><>

“You’re healing quickly, but we’d like to keep you in a couple more days for observation,” the doctor told Pam, eyes roving over whatever was attached to her clipboard. “No long-term damage that we can see, though of course I would recommend seeking out a therapist given the psychological effects of abduction.” Her tone was clipped and professional, but Pam could sense the sympathy in it even so.

She liked this doctor. The woman had introduced herself as Joan Leland; she had dark brown skin and hair nearly the same shade. She reminded Pam of one of her old neighbors, an excellent gardener back in Littleton. And unlike some of the nurses, Pam had never seen Dr. Leland shoot little pitying glances her way when the doctor came to check on Pam.

Pam’s vitals were steady, and – surprisingly enough – she felt _good_. Being able to eat a healthy amount of food and bask in the sunlight from her window was probably a large contributor, though Pam would expect part of it was the comfort that came from Bruce’s presence. He’d promised to give her time and space whenever she needed it, but she’d only asked him to leave the room for two reasons now. One, to give her time to place calls – she didn’t particularly want him listening in on conversations with her parents and Harley.

The second reason was because she’d asked him to buy a plant.

He wouldn’t be gone long; he’d headed down to the hospital gift store. Dr. Leland had stopped in almost as soon as he left.

“That’s understandable,” Pam said primly, folding her hands on her lap. “I’d imagine I can start walking around soon?”

Dr. Leland nodded. “Yes. On another note, we have of course maintained confidentiality about your… _condition_ , but I want you to know that we haven’t discovered a way to alleviate the skin color. So… well, if you’d like it to remain a secret, you may want to keep the walking to your room.”

The green tint to Pam’s skin was the one side effect of Woodrue’s experiments she couldn’t really get her head around. She figured it must’ve been due to a faulty chemical reagent, something he hadn’t been paying enough attention to when he injected it. Something _she_ hadn’t been aware he was injecting, because she was pretty sure she understood most of the other changes she’d experienced based on her own observations of what he’d done. At least, in theory.

“Thank you, Dr. Leland. I’ll keep that under consideration.” Pam smiled up at the doctor and swiped a lock of hair behind her ear.

Dr. Leland looked like she wanted to say something else, but Bruce chose that particularly opportune moment to enter, holding a small, bulbous cactus. As soon as he saw Joan, he subtly shifted so that the little plant was held behind his back; Pam was silently grateful.

Sure, Dr. Leland might not understand _why_ a cactus like that could have a hidden purpose, but Pam would prefer the question of her connection to greenery – both figuratively _and_ literally, now – never arise. The fewer details Dr. Leland had about the situation, the better.

“Mr. Wayne,” Dr. Leland said, noticing Pam’s gaze and turning to look at the door to the room. Her smile was genuine; Pam wondered how much of it had to do with the donation she’d heard Bruce had made to Arkham Memorial Hospital.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Bruce said smoothly, gesturing to Pam with his free hand, “could we have a moment alone?”

The doctor inclined her head and made her exit. Bruce pulled the cactus into Pam’s view and wiggled it as if to say “see? You can trust me to find a plant.”

Pam nodded, already focusing. “You can sit down,” she told him, “I’m going to try to make it do something from here.”

“So long as you don’t prick me,” he said. He really was taking this gamely.

Pam stared at the cactus. She tried to attune herself with it: what was its shape? Its chemical makeup? What was it _feeling?_

“You look like you’re going to burst a vein,” Bruce said amiably.

Pam rolled her eyes, though she wasn’t _truly_ annoyed. “Shut it.”

Bruce held the cactus up to the light. “Hmm,” he said noncommittally. “Does it look a little taller to you? It looks a little taller to me.”

Pam felt something twang in her heartstrings. Deep in her chest, the same feeling that she’d gotten when she’d connected to the grass kindled, smoldering quietly. Bruce opened his mouth again. “I’m curious if this—”

“Bruce,” Pam hissed, _“shut it._ ”

He shut it.

Pam flicked her index finger.

She really should have been prepared for it, but it was still a surprise when the cactus bloomed, three tiny yellow flowers dotting its rough green skin. Bruce yelped and nearly dropped it. He looked from the cactus to Pam, from Pam to the cactus, and grinned. “Holy hell, Pam.”

“I’m going to try to do it again,” Pam said, stretching her hand towards the cactus. “Make more flowers.”

She reached deep inside herself, tapping into what felt like a well of shining green, and imagined more blooms, more buds giving way to sunny yellow petals.

Nothing happened. The cactus sat unchanged in its pot, stubbornly refusing to provide any more than three flowers. Pam furrowed her brow and pushed harder, closing her eyes to pour her energy into getting the green from her veins to spill out into the world. Her arms felt like they were on fire.

“Give it a rest, Pam,” Bruce said gently. “You look tuckered out.”

Pam opened her eyes. The cactus hadn’t gained any miraculous new growths.

She sighed and lay back on the hospital bed. “Worth a try. Even if I didn’t do anything.”

“I wouldn’t say you did _nothing._ Seems to me you’re going to be getting some calls from Metahumans Anonymous soon.” The corner of his mouth quirked up. He walked over to the table by the window to set the cactus down.

He did not turn away from the window.

“Bruce?”

“Pam,” Bruce said quietly, “I think you need to come over here.”

She hadn’t stood in a while, but to her surprise, she was steady as she slid her legs over the edge of the bed and got to her feet. Her muscles felt a bit foreign to her body, but otherwise… she was good. Really good.

She walked over to the window, stepping carefully and preparing in case one or both of her legs gave out (neither did) and stopped next to Bruce.

Up until that point, the only person Pam had ever seen with their jaw dropped was Harley. It happened every so often when Harley saw something for which she could only express her torrent of emotions by full-on becoming a cartoon character. Pam had always found it endearing, if a bit silly – she _did_ remember thinking, on more than one occasion, that she should never do so, as she didn’t think she could pull off the mouth-hanging-open, eyes-wide look nearly as well as Harley did.

But looking out the window, Pam’s jaw dropped.

It was _winter._

But as far as she could see, stretching out and away from Arkham Memorial Hospital, flowers were blooming. Spring flowers, and summer ones too, poking proudly out of the soil. A rainbow of colors rippling out across the land.

Several passersby were stopped and pointing; cars on the road running by the hospital had slowed and rolled down their windows. She could almost feel their awe from where she stood, just as she could feel the vibrant thrum of the plants reaching up towards the sky.

“Want to rephrase that claim that you didn’t do anything?” Bruce said hoarsely.

Pam felt… well, she almost felt _proud._

Maybe things were looking up. Maybe, despite her parents and Woodrue and _everything_ , she’d be able to go a week with no bad news.

She looked out over the flowers and smiled.

<><><>

Jack loved Harley, and that was why it was important that he _show_ her how much he cared.

He’d always shown her, since the day he’d spotted her approaching his table at that goddamned Mexican restaurant. He’d showered her with kisses, taught her everything she needed to know about being a woman, started to prune around the edges of her relationship with _Pammie_ , who stuck her nose in the business of a husband and wife. Exactly where it didn’t belong.

And what did he get in return?

 _The little_ bitch _,_ Jack thought with vitriol, _needs a lesson._

He’d spent the night in his car, the heat turned up and the lights off, not really caring if he ran down the battery. Sometimes Jack just wanted to ignore reason and live in the _now_. Usually when he was feeling particularly angry, frustrated, or betrayed.

Right now he was feeling all three. But if he wanted his chance, he had to wait until the others left the house.

They did, in the early morning – the littler one with a backpack slung over her shoulders, unlocking an old bike that had been leaning up against the fence, and the older woman with purpose in her step. Harley was not with them.

Jack clenched his fists around the steering wheel, blood singing in anticipation. She thought she could just _leave him_. After everything he’d told her, after he’d sworn left and right that she could be the only one in his life to love him through it _all_.

The homeowners turned the corner. Jack didn’t waste a second.

He opened the car door with such force he wondered if he’d broken something inside it. Didn’t matter, so long as Harley didn’t hear him coming.

He got up, stretched, and went to remind Harley who she belonged to.

<><><>

Harley was watching cartoons.

Selina and Maggie had a TV, and old reruns of Looney Tunes were Harley’s guilty pleasure, so she’d just filled up a bowl of cereal and plopped down in front of the screen, scrolling through until she found Roadrunner and Wile. E. Coyote in their typical standoff.

She’d never watched cartoons at Jay’s (how easy it was to start thinking of his house as “ _his”_ and not “ _ours”_ anymore). For some reason, she’d worried that doing so would make him think she was immature. That she was just some kid who wanted to see animated creatures hitting other animated creatures with comically large mallets.

And okay, yeah, she _did_ like watching cartoonish shenanigans and slapstick humor in action, but she was an _adult_. That was the big difference.

Someone knocked on the door.

 _Maggie_ , Harley thought, getting to her feet and plodding over to the front door. She’d noticed a textbook left on the kitchen table when she was halfway through her bowl of cereal and assumed Maggie would be coming back to collect it. The younger Kyle had probably forgotten her key, too.

Harley shoveled another bite into her mouth and opened the door.

She barely had time to register who it was – all she saw was a puff of green hair and bloodshot eyes – before Jay’s hands were on her shoulders and he was _shoving_ her.

Harley let go of the bowl and tried to catch herself. She landed wrong on her right hand; it twisted under her as she fell.

She tried to scream, but then Jay was on top of her and pressing his forearm up against her throat. She could feel the cold wetness of the spilled milk spreading out on the floor against one of her hands. Jay’s breath smelled of alcohol.

“ _Harley_ ,” he hissed, _“you broke my fucking heart._ ”

And that was when he _really_ started in on her.

Harley saw stars, and tasted blood, and felt a whole number of horrible sensations. She fought back, at first, until it wasn’t an option anymore, because half her body felt broken and the other half was in the process.

She tried to call for help and never got the words out. She wasn’t quite sure when she lost consciousness, but she did remember thinking _he always stopped before._ And wondering if maybe this time, he wouldn’t _ever_. If she’d be a bloodied pulp of used-to-be-Harley before he took his hands off of her.

 _And he didn’t stop_.

_He didn’t stop._

_He didn’t—_

Pain. Dizziness. And then, blessedly, nothing.

<><><>

Maggie raced down her street, pedaling as hard as she could. She only had the thirty minutes of her lunch period to make it back home to snag her chem textbook before going back to school. She remembered tucking her homework in the front cover this morning – she was floating between grades in chem, and she _needed_ those points.

She tossed the bike against the fence, not bothering to lock it – she’d be in and out within minutes – and took the front steps two at a time, pulling her key out of her pocket in case Harley wasn’t up to let her in.

Huh. Weird. The front door was cracked, and Maggie could hear something playing on the TV in the background – a character saying “suffering succotash,” she thought. It brought a smile to her face, the idea of Harley watching cartoons. From what Selina had told Maggie about that marriage, Harley of all people deserved a break.

Maggie pushed open the door and nearly tripped over Harley.

There was blood. A lot of blood.

Maggie was an extremely sensible young woman. Beyond that, she’d gotten certified in First Aid for her job last summer. She didn’t waste time gasping or screaming; she grabbed the phone, dialed 911, and put it on speaker as she knelt next to Harley, her heart hammering. And okay, her hands might’ve been shaking a little, but she was a Kyle; she wasn’t going to let a little thing like that stop her.

Yes, Harley was breathing. No, she was not conscious. No, Maggie couldn’t identify any specific, gaping wounds. No, of course she wouldn’t move Harley until the paramedics arrived.

As the sirens converged on the Kyle house, Maggie opened the door wide. She showed the medics where Harley was and explained the situation. She walked with them to the ambulance and thought that her chem test could screw itself as she climbed in next to Harley. She felt like she was looking at herself from the outside; the distance her mind kept from what was happening made it all feel remote enough to handle.

They rushed Harley into triage. Told Maggie that she’d done everything that could be expected of her and more.

Maggie tried to still her trembling hands as she sat in the hospital waiting room and dialed Selina’s number.


	15. Red-Eye Midnight Flight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all love a protective Pam. Enjoy!

“If you won’t discharge me,” Pam said, arms crossed, “I’ll discharge _myself_.”

Bruce was impressed by the amount of charisma Pam had managed to cram into herself, even in her current state. She made for an imposing figure, eyes narrowed and back straight – even wearing just the flimsy hospital gown slung over her shoulders, she radiated _speak-to-the-manager_ energy like it was a switch she could turn on and off. He suspected it was genetic. Her cheeks were flushed, her chin set.

She’d been this way – decisively committed to her current path of action, no matter how much the doctors and nurses warned that she needed longer to recover – ever since Selina had called Bruce and asked to talk to the both of them on speaker.

“I’m perfectly healthy,” Pam added, glaring at the nurse who dared to suggest that she shouldn’t be out and about. “I’m _healed_ , damn it, and I need to _leave_.”

Bruce was a detective above all else, and he knew she wasn’t being entirely truthful about the “healed” point. There were still bags under her eyes, and sometimes, when she slept, he could see the lingering ghosts of pain flitting across her features. But he also knew that if she wasn’t hurting enough to be bedridden – or, he considered, even if she _was_ – there probably wasn’t a nurse in the world who could keep her from going to Harley.

Two of his childhood friends in the hospital at once was not a situation Bruce ever would have expected. As Pam argued with the nurse, demanding to speak with Dr. Leland, he surreptitiously phoned his travel agency and booked two tickets for the red-eye flight from Atlanta to Nashville. Next was a call to Alfred, who would be waiting with the car when they arrived in the early morning.

As Bruce hung up, Dr. Leland came pacing down the hall, heels clicking on the smooth hospital floor. She frowned. “Pamela?”

Pam rolled her eyes. “ _Finally_ ,” she said, gesturing to Dr. Leland, “a woman who will listen to reason.”

Bruce could tell she was about to begin another tirade. There were perks to being rich; one of them was that he could make sure she didn’t need to. He cut in smoothly. “Dr. Leland,” he spoke up, and all eyes went to him.

Pam looked like she wasn’t sure whether to trust him to be on her side. She shouldn’t have been worried. He wasn’t stupid enough to keep her apart from Harley in a situation like this.

“Dr. Leland,” Bruce repeated, “we’ve so appreciated the efforts of the hospital to assist Pam in her recovery thus far. I’m sure you could recommend some excellent physicians in Tennessee to aid in her future healing and check-ups after the harrowing events she’s had to endure. In fact, Arkham should expect a sizeable donation later this evening. Think of it as a parting gift.” He smiled winningly at the doctor, knowing she was smart enough to pick up on the subtext.

If Dr. Leland thought Pam wasn’t healthy enough to leave, she would protest, and he would trust her. But he was willing to bet that Pam’s opinion of her own health would be enough to push the scales in their favor.

“Pamela,” Dr. Leland finally said, looking to Pam, “it has been a pleasure. I hope you enjoyed your stay.”

“I did,” Pam acknowledged, gracefully inclining her head. The switch from angry patient to grateful one was nearly instant. Also: how in the hell did Pam pull off looking dignified in a hospital gown?

The nurse and the few interested parties who’d been drawn into Pam’s attempts to get discharged dispersed. “Pam,” Bruce said, “let’s get you some clothes. And then…”

Pam sagged a little. She’d spent herself more than she’d let on, arguing like she had, and he stepped towards her instinctively before realizing that he couldn’t touch her to support her. She shot a glance his way – _scared_.

Not for herself. For Harley.

“And then,” Pam finished for him, steadying herself, “we’re getting on a goddamn plane.”

<><><>

Bruce tried to sleep on the plane, but Pam kept him from it.

It wasn’t that she was talking to him; exactly the opposite. She was crammed into the window seat and spent the entire flight staring out the window, her fingers digging into the ends of her armrests. She was so tense it made _him_ start stressing more just looking at her. Every so often, he cracked an eyelid to see if she’d gone to sleep. She never even shifted positions.

Halfway into the flight, he gave up on getting a bit of shut eye and nudged Pam with his shoulder. She was wearing long sleeves. Plus gloves, to boot – only her face was really showing, and while she’d drawn a few stares in the terminal, most people had looked away like they were embarrassed instead of gawking. She was so covered up, he didn’t worry about the fact that her touch was literally poisonous at the moment.

She jumped a little when he nudged her, then shot a glance his way. Worry made furrows in her brow.

“We can’t make the plane go faster just by wishing it,” Bruce said softly.

Pam sighed, rubbing her eyes. “I know. But… Bruce.” She worried at her lower lip. “I could’ve told her to get out of that situation when I was back for _Fall Break_ , when I knew something was wrong.” She was speaking quietly, and he knew she was just as hyperaware as he was about the other plane passengers.

“If you had,” he said, measuring his words carefully, “I’m not sure she would’ve listened. Besides, what’s to say he wouldn’t have done the same thing if she left back then?”

She gave him a wry smile. At the very least, it was better than the haunted, anxious look she’d been wearing for the past few hours. Selina had called to check that they were coming and Bruce had barely picked up the phone before Pam swooped in asking about Harley’s condition. And Pam didn’t _swoop_. It was that bad.

“She does have a mind of her own sometimes.”

“Good,” Bruce said, “more people need their own minds.”

“I think I…” Pam frowned again. “This is going to sound terribly odd, Bruce, but ever since she got married…” she sighed.

He didn’t push. He let her say it when she needed to say it.

“It feels like someone stuck a spile in my heart,” Pam said. “And every time I heard about him and her, a little more of me dripped out through it, until I thought there was nothing left. Because there wasn’t any hope, you know?” She looked out the window again. “There was this _hole_. A hole without her. And I never stopped caring, but I thought maybe I could stop _feeling_ so much.”

“I imagine that was difficult.”

“It was impossible. I knew it as soon as she told me she was leaving him. All the hope came rushing back in.” Pam twisted in her seat, leaning her head up against the side of the plane. She seemed like she wanted to say more – wanted to open up like she might not have in a very long time – but instead she schooled her features and closed her eyes. Closed herself off again.

The pilot came on the intercom and announced that they would be landing in fifteen minutes. Pam gave a soft sigh of relief.

“Ready to be on the ground?” Bruce asked gently.

Pam nodded. “It’s more than Harley,” she murmured, eyes still closed. “Ever since we took off… I couldn’t feel them. The plants.” She said it like he would think she was crazy, even though he thought he might be the only one who understood. The only one who’d really _seen_ what was in that locked-up root cellar alongside Pam. “They were… comforting me.”

He almost didn’t catch the last thing she said, though he thought this might’ve been because she dropped to a whisper.

“I didn’t think I would mind so much.”

<><><>

There must’ve been about a gajillion painkillers in Harley’s system, because she felt like she was floating on a cloud or possibly dead. Maybe being dead was what painkillers felt like, or the other way around.

Most of what she was seeing were vague human-shaped blobs moving about her room. They could’ve been angels, she considered. Oh. Maybe it was because her eyes were only open a crack. She was inadvertently squinting and hadn’t even realized it. With great effort, she tried to blink.

Nothing happened. Instead of opening, her eyelids fluttered shut, like all the energy she’d poured in to thinking about moving them had sapped them of their strength. She wanted to giggle. _I need to do eyelid pushups_ , she thought _to develop my eyelid strength. Then I could go to a…_ her mind drifted. After a moment’s effort, she got it back on track. _A… fucking eyelid bodybuilding competition_.

Yep. She was _absolutely_ on painkillers right now.

She took stock of her body. The fact that her arms felt like lumpy hunks of meat that were good for nothing except hurting. The sound of her ears ringing like they’d decided to try out for the part of the bell tower in the _Hunchback of Notre Dame_ remake. The broken-ness of most of her body.

Harley decided to try to groan. It was a good, attainable first step. All it took was breathing and making a noise; she was doing really well at the breathing part right now, too. Except maybe there was a mask on her face that was doing the breathing for her.

Groan attempt 1: Nothing.

Groan attempt 2: Nothing again. She should just give up forever and be in a coma.

 _C’mon, Harley,_ she thought, _that’s not the kinda mentality a fucking pre-Olympic gymnast would’ve had. You can_ do _this. I believe in you. You can groan!_

She opened her mouth. Out whispered… not a groan, not quite, but it was definitely a moan! An audible moan. Goddamn, she was good.

She could hear someone moving. Excellent! Not only had she moaned, but someone else had _heard_ her moan. That almost made up for the fact that she hadn’t made it to groan-level.

“Fuck, Harley.” That was Selina. A hand touched Harley’s shoulder. It was cold. Harley wished she could tell Selina that, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to attempt speech yet. The pain still leached through her body; it was making it hard to concentrate.

She tried to mimic anyways – tried to pull off a “fuck, Selina,” – but instead all that came out was “fughhslina.”

Selina seemed to understand anyways. “Hold on, Harley,” she said, “hold on—” And then she said something else, but Harley thought that maybe she had messed up her talking somehow, because it kinda blurred so it was mostly unintelligible. Wait, no, maybe that was just Harley’s brain. She was slipping away again, somewhere dark and painkiller-y.

But she was somewhere safe.

Her brain jumped back to the moan – just for a moment – to offer her a joke before she went unconscious again. _Jay will have to pay you alimoany._

 _Haha,_ she thought, slipping back into the dark _, I’m hilarious._

<><><>

Alfred, though he was the most proper British butler Bruce could ever have imagined, drove like a demon. Like a literal demon, hell’s flames licking at the back of the dark blue coupe.

Ivy didn’t seem to mind. In fact, Bruce half expected her to start egging Alfred on. As the Tennessee landscape whisked by, growing more familiar by the minute, she gnawed at the ends of her nails. Alfred hadn’t commented on her skin color. It made Bruce love him even more.

Alfred was his dad, basically. A better dad than many of the ones Bruce knew. Selina’s, for instance, or Harvey’s, or Pam’s.

 _Hmm_ , Bruce mused, _not a great track record when it comes to fathers in Littleton_.

They only stopped once on the drive back. Pam made the request, much to Bruce’s surprise, though he bankrolled it: she stalked into a small university just outside of the big city with a fistful of cash and came out with a bag full of things he didn’t ask about. It had been the chemistry department. She didn’t explain how she’d gotten the supplies she brought into the car.

He watched her start mixing chemicals, thought that this must be extremely unsafe, and was glad that Alfred had practice as a chauffeur. The ride was smooth. Based on what Pam was doing, it absolutely needed to be.

<><><>

By the time they reached Littleton, Bruce was surprised that Pam was still alive. Mostly because she seemed so full of pent-up stress and plagued by lack of sleep that he wasn’t sure how she was functioning. She’d just gotten out of the hospital herself, after all, and he was considering whether he regretted helping her leave Arkham Memorial before she was well and truly ready.

Well. He thought their definitions of “ready” might diverge.

Selina met them in the hospital parking lot. She did a double-take at Pam.

“Looking a little green around the gills, Pam,” was all she said before guiding them inside. That was Bruce’s first hint that the situation with Harley might be worse than what Selina had said over the phone. He knew Pam and Selina hadn’t seen each other since the eighth grade incident; in other circumstances, he would have expected a far different welcome.

Pam was a bit of a disheveled mess. Bruce only noticed it as they walked down the white halls together; she was so wildly out of place in this environment that it made him wonder if he looked the same. Sleep deprivation could do that to a man.

The hospital was far quieter than the car ride had been. They entered the intensive care wing. Selina led them to a closed door.

Bruce’s first hint had been in Selina’s demeanor. His second hint that things were bad was Harley herself.

She looked terrible. Pam, looking at her, was almost worse.

Harley was hooked up to machines left and right – oxygen, heart rate monitor, the works. They already had an IV in her arm. Her cheeks were sallow, her chest barely moving as she inhaled. Her eyes were closed. There was a nurse in the room already.

Pam’s gaze flicked to Selina. “Coma?”

“No,” Selina said, sitting down on a visitor’s chair. “She moaned. Once.”

The nurse stepped towards Bruce and Pam, brow furrowing. “Only two visitors,” he said.

Bruce took his cue. There was no way he was making Pam leave now, not if he wanted to be friends with her after this… resolved. However that ended up happening. He gave the man a gleaming smile and reached out, placing a reassuring hand on Pam’s shoulder. “I’ll go.”

She didn’t thank him, but he could feel that she was thinking it.

<><><>

Harley took a turn for the worse in the night.

Pam hadn’t been sure if she was going to do it. She’d prepped the solution in the car, just in case, and gone over the synthesis a million times in her head, running it ragged like there might still be a mistake to catch, but it seemed foolproof. She understood, now; she’d seen her theories in practice, albeit on herself, and she was confident that this wouldn’t kill Harley.

No. Maybe – if Pam was lucky, and please, God, let her be lucky – it would save her.

When the nurse left the room, Pam surreptitiously introduced her solution to Harley’s IV.

Harley shifted on the hospital bed. It looked like she was frowning under the mask.

Pam sat down. She would wait. Forever, if she needed to.

But she would be here when Harley woke up.


	16. Sleeping Beauty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Selina officially becomes a third wheel.

Harley’s cheeks were flushed with fever. Pam sat next to her, chin propped on the heel of her palm.

She didn’t even realize Selina had joined her at Harley’s bedside until Selina tapped her on the shoulder. Pam jolted up in her seat. “What?”

“You look like you’re about to keel over.” Selina didn’t look at Pam when she spoke. Pam was a little grateful; she was sure she had the bloodshot eyes to match her exhaustion. And also, she didn’t care. She was here for Harley. She wasn’t here to sleep.

She felt it as her lips pressed into a thin line. “I can’t leave her.”

“Stubborn as ever, Pam. You just escaped a serial killer.”

Pam sighed. “I had a little while to heal. I’m fine.” Here she was, repeating the same things she’d told her doctors to Selina. At the very least, she was grateful Selina wasn’t bringing up what had happened the last time she, Harley, and Pam had been in a room. Pam wasn’t sure she could handle that right now.

“You really think Harley will be happy if she wakes up and you’re, like, dead from worry?” Selina rolled her eyes. “Trust me, Pam, she doesn’t want that.”

Pam didn’t honor that statement with a reply. Maybe because it was definitely true. Harley would be so _mad_ at her right now if she knew Pam was disregarding her own health like this. But Pam had introduced a new, untested serum into Harley’s system, and it was her responsibility to be here to adjust if things didn’t go to plan.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Selina said, leaning back. “You go to sleep, I’ll wake you up if she does something. Anything.”

Pam shook her head. “Not going to sleep.”

Selina was getting worked up, Pam could tell. She didn’t really _show_ it, but her fists clenched, and that was all Pam needed to see. Maybe it was the dull look in Pam’s eyes. Pam imagined what her face was doing with its expressions as she stared at Harley. Maybe she was even a little… hopeless?

Pam got the feeling that Selina hated that look.

Selina pulled her ace. “What if she needs you and you’re too tired to help, Pam? What then?” She placed her hands on her hips and leaned towards Pam authoritatively as if it would help to emphasize her words. “Now _that_ ,” she said, jabbing a finger at Pam, “is an absolute fucking possibility.”

Pam hadn’t considered that. It was true – she’d seen the research. People made more mistakes when they were tired. It was just a human trait.

She couldn’t afford to make mistakes now. Not with this.

She only hesitated for a moment. “And… you’ll wake me up? You promise.”

Selina nodded. “Promise.”

“Even if it’s just a moan?”

“Even if it’s just a moan.”

Pam frowned. “I’m not going to leave. I’ll sleep here.”

Selina settled back into her chair. She yawned and gave Pam a terribly knowing look. “Why of course, Pam,” she said, “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

<><><>

Harley woke up.

This was an incredible feat of strength that she felt she needed a medal for. It could’ve been an Olympic sport, hauling herself out of the soft, dark embrace of sleep. Especially when everything still _hurt_ so goddamn much.

Except… it wasn’t as bad as last time. Her bones felt… sturdier, somehow. And her head was clearer.

 _Okay, Harley_ , she thought, _time to open those baby blues_.

She opened her eyes.

Ah. That was nice. Too bright, at first, but then her vision adjusted to the white-walled hospital room, and she found herself looking around at stuff.

Whoa. Her vision wasn’t cross-eyed. Had it been the last time she’d woken up? Maybe. Maybe she was remembering things wrong, too – her head still felt a little stuffy, even if it was better than it had been.

She noticed Selina first, leaning back against the wall. Her head was tipped back, her short-cropped hair mussed where it pressed up against the whitewash. She was wearing an all-black ensemble and two silver star earrings in each ear – exactly what she’d had on when Harley last saw her, before the cartoons and before… Jay. Harley shook that memory out of her head. That was one incident she wouldn’t mind being hazy, and yet there it was, clear as day.

The expression on Jay’s face. His hands on her skin.

Harley refocused. Selina was snoring just a little, which made Harley snort.

 _Oh my God_. She’d _snorted_. Hell, that was maybe even one better than a groan!

Harley let her gaze meander down Selina’s form, not quite ready to wake her up yet. Huh. From where Harley was lying, it looked like there might be… someone on the floor? She could see the curve of a hip jutting up into her line of vision, but the hospital bed and the angle at which Harley lay on it prevented her from getting a better look.

Very carefully, trying not to disturb the IV in her arm or the oxygen mask on her face, Harley shifted left in her bed.

 _Ow._ Her left leg hurt a little and her right leg hurt a lot. She tried again. _Ow ow_. Okay, yeah, that still hurt like the dickens, but she was getting closer. Gritting her teeth, Harley made a monumental effort. _Ow ow ow owowowowow._ She squeezed her eyes closed for a moment, breathing in and out through her mouth. An old gymnast’s trick, used to control her emotions before a big competition. She’d found during her time with Jay that it was also helpful when controlling pain.

 _Wow_ , she thought, clarity suddenly slamming into her, _that’s_ really _fucking messed up_.

Okay, so, yeah, the movement had hurt, and she’d also had a moment of mind-blowing realization about the state of her former marriage, apparently, but she had made it a couple inches further, and now she could see the head of the person on the floor. Booyah. Point to Harley.

They were facing away from her, dozing with their head on a hard hospital pillow. Hair a mess of red, red, _red_ , and it took Harley 1.273 seconds to realize who it was. Not that she didn’t recognize the woman immediately, but there was a bit of a lag as her brain protested that this couldn’t be _her_. Not _here._

Because she was in a hospital in Atlanta, and everything was mixed up, because _she_ was the one _Harley_ was supposed to be going to, not the other way around.

“Pam,” Harley breathed, and it came out louder than she meant it to. “ _Red_.”

Pam shifted, slowly and lazily, turning onto her back as she blinked awake. And that was when Harley saw her skin.

She was wearing long sleeves, which by now Harley of all people should have recognized as clothing that made it easy to hide secrets. But those sleeves couldn’t hide the color of her face – green, green, _green_.

Pam’s head tilted towards Harley, and they blinked as they gazed at each other, and Harley found that she didn’t care about Pam’s skin because Pam’s _eyes_. Oh, _God_ , Pam’s eyes.

They were the same as they’d always been. Sparkling, twinkling. Verdant green. Eyes that must’ve been put on this Earth for Harley to get lost in. Her memory never did those eyes justice.

Pam stared at Harley and _beamed_.

It didn’t take Harley long to realize a matching grin had stretched over her own face. Her body was forgotten; she felt transcendent. Man, they needed to market this stuff. No more aspirin or Tylenol; try Pamela Isley Looking at You and Smiling for an organic alternative. Trust me, your pain will be gone faster than you can say “she makes me want to divorce my husband!”

Harley tried to sit up.

Okay, apparently the Pain-Be-Gone aspect of Pam only worked when one was lying down. And that was okay! Harley decided that if that was the case, she was just going to stay where she was.

“Harley,” Pam said, like it was a sacrament.

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.” _Fuck._ The first phrase she’d really been able to utter since she’d woken up in the hospital, and it was terribly stupid. Harley wanted to facepalm, except she wasn’t sure if she could make her arm carry through on it.

Somehow, Pam’s smile spread even wider. She looked so _soft_ , her edges all green and red. Like a Christmas tree. Harley giggled, eyes tracking over the bare bits of Pam’s skin. The arc of her neck, the line of her chin.

Pam frowned, glanced down at herself, and suddenly looked terribly self-conscious. She flushed – just as Harley had seen her do a thousand times, though not with green cheeks – and shifted so her hair fell to cover some of her skin. “Do I really look that terrible, daisy?”

Harley had no clue where she’d gotten that idea. “I always said green was your color, Pam.”

Was that stupid? Maybe that was stupid. Maybe that was really really stupid.

Pam sat up and glanced over her shoulder at Selina. She narrowed her eyes. “God _damn_ it, Selina.”

Oh no. Did they still hate each other? Had Harley messed everything up between them just like she’d thought she had with herself and Selina? She prodded – just a little bit. “Pam? What is it?”

Pam crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. “She was supposed to stay awake. She promised to wake me up if anything happened with you.”

What a relief. At least it wasn’t a blood feud. Harley considered, faltering for just an instant. She looked down at her ghostly-pale arms and the IV threaded into the crook of one elbow. “Was I… was I real bad, Red?”

Pam didn’t seem like she wanted to answer that, but she did anyways, her expression so neutral it must have been intentional. “They didn’t know if you were going to wake up again.”

Something extraordinarily tender drifted across Pam’s face as her gaze flicked up to Harley again. It was gone as quickly as Harley noticed it. As if to guard against whatever it had been, Pam changed topics entirely. “Harley,” she said, shifting back to sit on her heels and resting her palms flat against her thighs, “they don’t know who did this.”

There was a lot of weight in that little line. So many unspoken questions. _I know who did this, don’t I? You know, too, don’t you? If nobody saw him, are you going to lie to protect him?_

Harley had lied to protect Jay and she’d lied to protect Pam. She was only going to do it for one of them anymore.

“It was Jay,” she said matter-of-factly, as if she wasn’t putting the final nail in the coffin for what once was Harley & Jay. As if this didn’t mean more than leaving him, than her wedding ring left on their bedside table.

Pam’s eyes narrowed. She moved smoothly to her feet, striding over to Harley, and sat next to the hospital bed. Her hand sought out Harley’s, and something sparked in Harley’s stomach at the warmth of their fingers intertwined. She tugged at Pam’s glove, and Pam seemed to know what she meant; she pulled the glove off and set it aside, lacing their fingers together again with nothing between them.

Pam’s palm was soft and very green and Harley knew right then that something was happening.

She squeezed, just a little, and let the hurt pour out of her. Not speaking, just looking at Pam. They’d switched places; Pam in the hospital, Harley in the hospital. Pam hurt, Harley hurt. Harley could feel emotions spiraling across her face just as they were spiraling across Pam’s.

There was a moment, then, of complete understanding between the two of them. Pam had Woodrue, Harley had Jay. Woodrue was dead, Jay wasn’t.

“Wanna kill him with me?” Harley said, and she was only half-joking.

“Yes,” Pam replied, expression entirely solemn. She wasn’t joking at all.

As it turned out, Harley realized, neither was she.

He’d beaten her nearly to death. He hadn’t cared when Pam could’ve died, either, even when he knew how much she meant to Harley. How much she still meant.

 _More to me than the world_.

“Pam,” Harley said, voice entirely too husky. She wanted to say _come closer_ and she wasn’t sure if she’d be brave enough to.

She still didn’t know. How could she still not know, when the rest of Pam was laid out in front of her like an open book every time Pam so much as twitched an eyebrow? How could this be the _one thing_ Harley could never see – if Pam’s skin sparked like Harley’s did when they touched?

And the thing was, after everything that had happened, Harley didn’t really care anymore.

Pam leaned over the bed. There was a shadow in the hollow of her collarbone that made Harley want to throw something. Instead, she reached up towards her oxygen mask with the arm that wasn’t entirely broken and pulled it off. She didn’t need it right now. It was _exactly_ what she didn’t need right now.

Pam looked at her like she was already aching, like she was already hurting, and Harley wondered how many times they’d come this close before Harley had stopped in her tracks. She wondered if _she_ was the one who’d been snatching hope away from Pam. If perhaps this was all an enormous misunderstanding.

It most certainly wasn’t. Because before she could make a move, Pam leaned down and kissed her.

Oh _god_.

Oh _God_ , with a capital G.

She kissed Pam back like it was what she’d been born to do. Pam’s lips were as soft as the rest of her. Harley twined her fingers in Pam’s red, red hair and wished she had two hands at her service so she could put the other to work, too. Her tongue darted up against Pam’s lips and Pam’s mouth opened in response, parting for her.

If kissing Jay had been a match alight, this was a forest fire. If he had been the primary colors, this was the rainbow with ultraviolet thrown in. If he was the kiddie pool, this was the ocean, vast and deep and unknowable and incredibly gorgeous and somehow it was _hers_.

They parted like divers coming up for air and then it began again. Harley traced her thumb down the nape of Pam’s neck. Pam’s hands were doing incredible things to Harley’s bare arms. Downright unreasonable, illogical things. Harley shivered in pleasure, ready to lose herself in _this, this, this_ for as long as she could keep up the energy.

“Fucking _finally,”_ Selina said from behind them.

Pam jerked back from the bed, eyes wild. Harley had really done a number on her hair, she thought proudly; it was even more magnificently messy than it had been in the first place. It kinda made up for the smug look on Selina’s face as she stretched in her chair, one leg artfully crossed over the other.

“Now, don’t stop on my account,” Selina said, flicking a hand their way. Harley didn’t even have to look at Pam to know those cheeks would be flushed as ever. “I’m excited to see how you put all the skills I taught you to use, Pam, darling.”

Harley groaned. _Oh, how exciting_ , the juvenile self in the back of her mind thought, _we got a really good groan in!_ “Fucking hell, Selina.”

“No, really, Selina said, rolling her eyes languidly. “That took you for-fucking- _ever_. You’ve been making heart-eyes at each other since, like… oh, I dunno. Since you two _met_.”

Okay, so maybe Harley was blushing a little, too. Had she been that obvious?

“You were both _so_ obvious,” Selina added with a flourish.

Pam looked like she might be panicking. Harley reached out and grabbed her hand again. Steadying. She was the reassuring one in this situation; how wild was that?

Pam glanced back at Harley, and it was only then that Harley realized exactly how many barriers had just dropped away in her expression. How had Harley not noticed those blockades of emotion before?

She never wanted them to go back up.

“Selina,” Pam said, looking back at Selina pointedly, “I think I hear Bruce calling.”

“In other words,” Harley added, “if you don’t give us a bit of time alone, Kitty, I think Pam might bite yer head off.”

“You two are adorable,” Selina teased, but it didn’t really matter what she _said_ , because what she was _doing_ was getting up and grabbing her bag. She tossed it over her shoulder and left the room, chuckling as she went.

Pam didn’t waste time. She was economical like that.

As Harley leaned up towards her again, she was glad.

The oxygen mask didn’t go back on again for quite some time.


	17. Guess Who Had to Die?

Harley had superpowers.

Okay, so _Pam_ had superpowers. But Harley had figured out by now that every time she kissed Pam and there were plants in a ten-foot radius, any flowers that _could_ bloom did.

She didn’t point it out. She thought doing _that_ might make Pam self-conscious, maybe make her stop doing it. And Harley didn’t want her to stop doing it.

Anyways, that was why Harley had superpowers. Being able to make someone with superpowers use their superpowers was a superpower in itself, wasn’t it? _Superpower_ was starting to lose all meaning as a word.

“So yeah,” Pam said, looking down at her hands as she perched on the edge of Harley’s bed. “That’s most of it.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and studied her palms. “I mean, it’s really not that impressive.”

Harley rolled her eyes. “Pam-a-lamb, you can literally _make plants move with your mind._ ”

Pam laughed, then paused. She bit her lip and looked at Harley. “I do want to apologize, you know.”

Harley’s turn to laugh. What in the world did Pam have to apologize for?

Except Pam looked entirely serious.

“I’m waiting,” Harley said.

“I drugged you without your permission.” Pam got it out all in a rush, like she did whenever she wanted to say something but was too nervous to take it slow. It was like she was worried she wouldn’t be able to finish her statement if she didn’t run at it full speed.

Harley sat there for a moment, practicing moving the fingers on her bad arm. Very evenly, she responded: “I assume it was for a good reason?”

“When you were… when they thought you might not make it.” Pam sighed, kneading her forehead with the fingers of her right hand. “I gave you a serum. Modified from some of the trials that were effective when Woodrue was… _working_ on me, but in a diluted form. Not enough to make you… _go green_ , so to speak, but to give you a boost in the healing department.”

 _Whoa_. So Harley really _did_ have superpowers now. Except… “in a diluted form.”

Still! Superpowers!

Apparently, Pam wasn’t finished. She frowned, bracing her arms against the hospital mattress, and leaned back. “I must admit, I did it for selfish reasons, too.”

“How so?” Harley was only half-listening. Mostly, she was wondering if diluted superpowers meant she could, like, jump off buildings or something without worrying about hitting the bottom. Unfortunately, she doubted it.

“I… you know there were side effects from the experiments. I’ve become somewhat… _toxic_.” Pam winced at the word.

“So…” Harley said, concentrating. Her mind was still a little fuzzy from the painkillers, but she thought she was piecing it together, and the picture wasn’t pretty. “I’ve been locking lips with a poison dart frog.”

Was this her fate? To find out she had diluted superpowers only to die because she’d kissed the most beautiful woman on the planet and the universe just couldn’t let it stand?

“That was the other part of the serum,” Pam said anxiously, “I made you immune from me.” She shot a furtive glance at Harley. She’d started to chew on the nail of her thumb as if she didn’t quite realize she was doing it; it was such a familiar gesture that Harley wanted to kiss her again. Maybe it was because everything Pam did recently made Harley want to kiss her. Kissing Pam was never a bad option.

“So…” Harley said, “what’s the catch?”

Pam looked taken aback. “What do you mean?”

“There must’ve been something really bad for you to freak out about ‘drugging’ me.” Harley used air quotes for the ‘drugging.’ From what she understood, Pam had basically just saved her life.

“Well, I didn’t exactly ask your permission.”

“ _That’s_ what your worried about? I was fucking unconscious, Pam.”

“You couldn’t consent.” Pam’s mouth was set in a stubborn line. She wasn’t going to be argued out of this one.

Harley could not physically express how exasperated she was feeling. Sometimes Pam could be so… so _infuriating_. She wanted Harley to be mad at her because she’d done something amazing! “Fine,” Harley bit out, “I officially forgive you for saving my life. And also I promise I’ll be very explicit about consent in the future.”

Pam raised an eyebrow. She could obviously tell Harley had more to say.

Harley gave in to her not-better nature. “Come here right now and kiss me. Oh, wait, let’s get my waiver out first.” She shrugged. “See? Spelling it out isn’t always sexy.”

Pam leaned over Harley and Harley’s lungs decided to stop doing their job. “I happen to find waivers _extremely_ sexy,” Pam said, breath whispering against the hollow of Harley’s throat.

Harley’s heart pounded like it wanted to single-handedly provide the rhythm for a fast-paced rap ballad. “Oh,” she said, feeling very small and unprincipled, “bring on the waivers, then, baby.” She bit her lip. _That was extremely_ un _sexy_ , she thought. How did people ever get stuff done when they were around a straight-up hottie? She could barely _think_.

“Come here _right now_ ,” Pam said, voice sultry, “and _kiss me._ ”

Harley wasted no time in making her attempt to do just that, only for Pam to pull back at the last moment. “See?” Pam said, voice a mockery of Harley’s, “spelling it out _can_ be pretty sexy.”

“Let me try,” Harley said, “F-U-C-K-I-N-G K-I-S-S M-E.”

“Oh, very funny, petal,” Pam said, and then she did.

 _You know_ , Harley thought, in the brief moments in which her brain listened to her and stopped paying attention to every single place on her body where she was making contact with Pam, _more people should try kissing poison dart frogs. It’s pretty damn amazing_.

And then Pam shifted her lips down to Harley’s neck and Harley sorta kinda forgot how to think anything at all.

<><><>

“So, easy choice,” Harley said. She had scooched over on the hospital bed so Pam could fit in beside her. Harley hadn’t had to deal with an oxygen mask ever since they’d moved her out of intensive care. She had enjoyed, in the doctor’s words, a “miracle recovery.”

Harley was looking at the miracle right now. The miracle was crunching on a shining red apple as she lay atop the white sheets, her free hand intertwined securely with Harley’s.

“Poison,” Harley finished.

Pam frowned. “Poison?”

“For Jay,” Harley clarified. “Pretty poetic.”

“Not very creative,” Pam teased. “Based off of everything you described to me about Woodrue, we have some terribly unique homicide options on the table.”

“Yeah,” Harley admitted, “but none of those were really _realistic_. Death by a thousand cuts would take waaaaay too long and we’d have to clean up lotsa blood. And if we crushed him in a trash compacter we wouldn’t get to watch. Poison’s good. Especially your poison! It’s unique to you, right?”

“Yes. From what I understand, it’s a mixture of plant-based toxins that shifts nearly constantly due to my metabolism. As my body adjusts to maintain homeostasis, so too does the makeup of my...” she wiggled her fingers, drumming them across the apple, “ _poison fingertips_.”

Harley tried not to think about where she wanted those “poison fingertips.” She gulped and got back on topic. “So basically untraceable.”

“I suppose so.”

“Aw, Red,” Harley leaned her head to the side, tucking it into the nook of Pam’s shoulder. “Look at us, planning a murder.”

“I honestly didn’t think you’d be so upbeat about it,” Pam said, chomping down on her apple.

Harley frowned. She knew it was worth considering her emotional state before they actually did it, but at the same time, she’d stopped herself from thinking too hard about how she _felt_ about the impending death of her husband – or maybe he was an ex-husband by now, if the divorce papers had gone through. For some reason, she felt like if she didn’t address her feelings, she would have no chance to change her mind.

Pam was good at being quiet when she sensed Harley needed it, and Harley certainly did now. She leaned into Pam’s warmth and thought. Really let herself mull it over.

She had loved Jay. She had _married_ him. He’d become an enormous part of her life. Really, he’d been the only thing that still tied her to Littleton. Images flashed through her mind: him making her food, caring for her after he’d slipped up, ruffling his green hair and grinning at her from the other side of the bed just before she turned off the lamp on the nightstand.

Good memories. Even if there was pain around the edges of them, there had been moments in the relationship when Harley had felt truly _content_. Like this could be her place, like she could live in the now forever if the now was with Jay.

But everything else…

Even if she loved him, she realized, _he didn’t love her._

Pam shifted and looped an arm over Harley, drawing her closer.

If Jay had loved her – if he had _really_ loved her – he would’ve done what Pam was doing now. This. Only this. Comfort. Trust. There would be no “mistakes” that left Harley stitching up her own wounds and somehow apologizing to him at the same time for pushing him to cause them.

“ _Okay_ ,” Harley whispered.

“Hmm?” Pam had set her apple core aside. She was breathing slow and steady.

“I’m positive,” Harley said, certainty weighing heavy on her tone. “I still love him. A little. But I know it for sure now.”

They both did.

Jay had to die.

<><><>

They hashed out the plan in the hospital. It was somewhat ironic, Harley had to admit – preparing for a murder in a place that tended to the victims of failed attempts. Like Harley herself, of course.

They didn’t discuss it when the nurses were in the room, marveling over Harley’s recovery. Harley and Pam just smiled and repeated, over and over, how grateful they were that her situation had improved so rapidly.

It didn’t always feel that way to Harley – she actually felt like her healing had slowed the less severe her injuries became. Pam had admitted to experiencing something similar shortly after she’d been freed from Woodrue’s clutches. “I imagine,” she mused, “that if I got shot, it would heal much more quickly than if I gave myself a paper cut.”

Harley, who did not want to think about Pam getting shot (or the fact that she could kinda imagine Jay doing it, if he knew what activities she and Pam had been getting up to when the nurses weren’t around) redirected the conversation. Even though it was kinda cute to see the scientist’s gleam in Pam’s eyes when she talked about herself like she was the product of a fascinating experiment.

Well, she _was_ , but even so.

Harley wondered, every so often, if Woodrue’s biggest mistake had been not in experimenting on Pam, but in not asking her for her permission. Harley could almost have seen Pam consenting.

For someone so smart, Pam could be a little stupid sometimes.

The first step of their plan was Harley’s least favorite. Her arm was still fractured, and she was harboring a limp and a black eye, when they decided it was time. Well. _Harley_ decided it was time.

Thing was, Harley knew that Jay wasn’t an idiot. He knew he’d hurt her this time around – hurt her _bad_. She couldn’t show up too healed; he might be able to dismiss the fact that she was up and about, but if she wasn’t sporting any injuries whatsoever, he’d know something was afoot. And even if he didn’t know _how_ she’d gotten patched up so quickly, it would put him on edge. He’d be suspicious.

It was extremely important that he _not_ be suspicious.

And that started with food.

<><><>

The only time Jay made food for Harley was when he wanted something.

She hadn’t realized it when she was still living with him; she thought his home-cooked meals were just rare and delightful surprises. But looking at it from the outside, she saw how carefully he picked and chose when and if he would whip up a batch of scrambled eggs or grill a couple of burgers. She understood that he often did it for forgiveness, as a way to make up for the results of his own actions after he’d slapped her or lit into her with a particularly brutal verbal attack.

Harley, on the other hand, made food for him _all the damn time_.

It was kinda funny, actually, since she’d never really liked cooking before she got married. After they’d tied the knot, for the most part, she’d found that she liked cooking for _Jay_ because she loved him, and it never felt like a chore when she knew the mouth she was feeding was the same one she enjoyed kissing. And he _loved_ her food, even if he complained sometimes about her not making his favorites. Like he forgot she had favorites, too.

 _Jesus Christ_ , Harley thought, hobbling into his cabin and catching the door so it would shut quietly behind her, _every fucking thought about him is turning into something negative_

Huh. Perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing, since she was about to kill him. _No regrets, Harley_.

She wasn’t particularly worried that she’d have any, but hey, it paid to be sure.

It was barely dawn. The sun had just begun to peek over the horizon when Pam had dropped Harley off a few blocks from the cabin. They figured Pam shouldn’t risk coming too close to the house in daylight, even though it’d taken some convincing from Harley to keep Pam from letting her protective side take precedence. And while she’d promised Harley to be ready when Harley needed her later, she’d also gotten a bit of a far-off look in her eyes and said she had something to take care of during the day.

Harley got the feeling the “something” was composed of two very punchable faces with the surname “Isley.”

Harley pulled off her dark red winter coat – a rather laborious task – and hung it on the rack in the cramped front foyer. Best to make it look like she was settling in again, to allay his suspicions as well as she could. She tiptoed around the floor’s creaky spots as she made her way to the kitchen. Trust Jay to choose this night not to sleep like the dead, the way he usually did.

She opened up the refrigerator with her good arm. _Damn_. She’d only been gone for a few days, and Jay had already cleaned out most of the rack where she kept his beers (he liked them chilled and ready for him each night). She checked the freezer. Yep – all of her emergency frozen meals – the ones she’d started buying when he started hurting her enough to keep her from making food – were gone.

He liked to joke about having a hollow leg and needing enough food to feed two men. She caught herself smiling about it.

In the end, she chose eggs and bacon from the refrigerator and started to cook. It was a little difficult, doing everything with one hand – especially cracking the eggs – but she managed it. Soon, the kitchen was filled with warmth and the aroma of good food. She leaned towards the steam and sniffed, smiling at the smell. She’d made more than enough.

“ _Harley?”_

She’d been expecting him, even if she hadn’t heard his padded sock feet on the floor.

When she turned, Jay was in the doorway to the kitchen, looking bewildered. No… not quite bewildered, not so innocent as that. Perplexed. Guarded. Like he was trying to figure out why she was here.

Harley had rehearsed lines in her head for this. They’d all disappeared. That was all right; she was good at improv.

“I thought about what you said,” she told him, looking down at the tiled floor between his feet. She hoped she looked appropriately shameful. “That first thing you mentioned… it really got through to me. You said I broke your heart.”

Harley thought about Pam, and about what it would feel like if Jay’s fists and feet had done more than just put her in a hospital bed. If they had put her six feet under instead. What it would feel like to never see Pam again. For her last memory to be the moment in the hospital room when she’d struggled awake and hadn’t even been able to _groan_.

Sure, she’d tried to think of it as sorta funny then, but it wasn’t now.

He could’ve kept her from Pam. Forever.

That was enough to make Harley’s eyes water as she looked back up at Jay, bottom lip jutting out. “I’m sorry,” she said, and she let a tear slip down her cheek. “I’m so sorry I betrayed you. Please, Jay, _please_. I’ll never leave again, I promise. Forgive me.”

His expression was hard for a moment.

And then he softened, and his words wrapped around her the same way they always did after a fight. He stepped towards her, took the spatula from her hand, and set it on the countertop. Then he reached out to her, wrapped her up in his arms, and, taking care not to jostle her injuries, just stood there. He rocked with her.

She let herself sob into him, and every tear – like every word she’d spoken – was fake.

She’d never hated him more than in this moment, when he’d seen her at her weakest and _still_ had the gall to allow her to announce that it was her fault _he_ had put her in the hospital.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he said, drawing back and pressing a cold kiss to her forehead before embracing her again, “I forgive you.”

She closed her eyes and leaned into him. She caught a sharp scent in the air. On the stovetop, something was burning.

Harley’s fingers dug into his back. She pressed her face into his chest. She wondered if he could tell she’d stopped crying.

 _I forgive you_.

Like she was the guilty one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand... it's gonna happen. Isn't it exciting, folks? We all love a good fictional revenge murder.
> 
> By the way, since I'm done with this fic and considering other options, if anyone has suggestions for fanfics (either in this fandom or in another), let me know in the comments. Whether it's another AU, a fanart piece you'd like to see me riff off of, an in-universe story idea, or something entirely different, shoot me a comment and I'll mark it down in my To Be Written (though, of course, no promises)
> 
> -Selkie


	18. Pins and Needles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to do an early Wed/Thurs update this week for no particular reason. Enjoy!

Pam stood just outside her parents’ white picket fence.

Yes, white picket fence. They were nothing if not stereotypical, the Isleys. Pam reached over and unlatched the gate from the other side, pushing it open quietly. No creaky hinges in her family; the gate wouldn’t dare.

As she walked, she settled herself into her stride. She’d started altering her shoes since she got to Littleton. After some discussion with Bruce, he’d helped her to hollow out the soles. They still _looked_ mostly normal, but now with every step they let her come into contact with the dirt, with the grass, with the Green she’d become more and more comfortable with. It pulsed beneath her feet, vibrantly alive.

It reassured her, somehow, to be in touch with the plants that way. It made her feel… grounded.

Today, of all days, she needed that. She would be back with Harley soon, but she needed to confront her parents in person, and she had to be alone.

As she passed her mother’s rosebushes, she paused. It was still cold out, and the roses wouldn’t bloom for a few months more. Pam brushed her fingertips against the bare stalks of the bushes on either side of the front stoop and drew from the deep well inside her, letting energy flutter out through her fingers.

She closed her eyes and let the power percolate down the entire row of bushes. She smirked as she drew her hands away and opened her eyes.

Every bush was in full bloom, the multicolored roses unfurling their petals into the crisp air. Pam tilted her head, satisfied.

Her mother’s rosebushes. They’d always felt like hers, too, until her parents had decided that it was too unladylike for a growing Pam to spend so much time with her hands in the dirt and instructed her to cut back on her “botanical leisure time.”

Pam walked up the front steps and didn’t bother to ring the doorbell. She still had a key.

They hadn’t changed the locks, though she’d half expected them too. She wondered if they truly believed she would never come back. Or assumed that if she did, she wouldn’t have the guts to return to her childhood residence.

Her parents both thought it proper to rise early in the day, so she didn’t doubt that they were awake. In fact, she knew exactly where they were. As she stepped into the foyer and shut the front door quietly behind her, she could hear the clinks of cups in the dining room.

The house was just as she remembered it. Painted in all shades of dull grays and whites, with minimalist décor and redundant mirrors hanging everywhere. She used to hate those mirrors. Now, as she glided past the ones in the hall on the way to the kitchen, she smiled at her appearance. Green skin, tangled red hair, jeans and a black sweatshirt she’d borrowed from Selina.

She hadn’t dressed up for the occasion. She hadn’t seen why she should. Now, she was glad. For once, her appearance matched how she’d felt about this place since she was in high school. Middle school, even. She _looked_ like she didn’t belong here.

This was simply a house, never a home.

Pam paused by the dining room door, still out of sight. Her mother was reciting the daily New York Times crossword clues across the table to her father. He shot back the answers, pausing as he sipped his coffee. Pam had once tried to supply an answer of her own for one of the clues; it had earned her a sharp glance from her father as he set his cup down hard enough to splash a little coffee over the edge. She’d learned not to interrupt her parents’ morning routine.

Well, fuck that.

Pam stepped into the doorway and faced her parents.

<><><>

Jay did not spend the day with Harley.

She hadn’t expected him to. He was treating this for the most part like a normal “make-up” after a fight, which meant he cooed and cared for her while he was feeling generous and then left for work. Left her to clean up the dishes and patch herself up if any patching was needed.

It was. The shallow cut she’d sustained at Selina’s house, slashing through her right eyebrow, had opened up again. It was almost strange how easily she fell back into old habits; she could find the band-aids and Neosporin in the medicine cabinet without needing to think about it. She stared at her reflection as she dabbed the medicine on her brow, wincing as it stung.

And then she got down to business.

She’d already sold the car through an online website, though he didn’t know it. She still had access to the bank account, of course, and it had needed to look like he’d put the car up for sale himself. Apart from that, she grabbed some of his favorite shirts and pants and burned them. None of the neighbors should’ve been home to notice the smoke.

And then the most important part of the plan.

She’d brought a duffel bag from the hospital. Small, packed with just a few of her clothes from Selina’s. She and Pam were technically staying at Selina’s now that Harley had been discharged and Pam had been disowned, but they hadn’t told Selina that Harley had been planning to come back to Jay’s – they hadn’t told Bruce, either. They hadn’t told _anyone_. _That would’ve been pretty stupid_ , Harley thought, rifling through her stuff _, given that we’re about to murder him_.

 _Here_. Tucked away under a bra wrapped inside a t-shirt was a large plastic Ziploc. They hadn’t thought that Jay would go through Harley’s stuff, but they’d wanted to be safe: a bag full of black-eyed peas _was_ a little suspicious.

Harley lifted it to get a better look. She was still paranoid, somehow, that what they’d done to the food would show.

Well, what _Pam_ had done. Harley had mostly watched as Pam bit her lip in concentration, letting the peas fall through her fingers. “Yeah,” Pam had said, “these’ll work.”

They’d tried letting Pam just mix the peas around with her bare hands for a while, but Pam had fretted that her poison wouldn’t coat them well enough. “It’s just like natural human oils,” she said, sitting between Harley’s hospital bed and the window so she could easily hide what she was doing from any nurses or doctors that walked in. “I don’t think very much comes off of my skin. Woodrue had been touching me for days before he developed that rash.”

“Ah, well,” Harley said with a shrug, “there’s always arsenic.”

Pam frowned. “No. That would _definitely_ show up in a tox report, Harley.”

“Based on the plan for after he’s dead, Pam-a-lamb, they’ll never have a chance to _do_ a tox report.”

Pam didn’t comment. She was still letting peas trickle through her fingers and back into the bag. They’d chosen black-eyed peas specifically because they were one of Jay’s favorite meals.

Yeah, Harley knew Pam was right. For once, Pam’s obsession with organization and planning for all contingencies really _was_ vital. They needed this to be foolproof.

Harley couldn’t imagine Pam in a prison cell. It was non-negotiable. Would not happen.

Hating herself for even thinking it, given that it necessitated some sort of injury on Pam’s part, Harley spoke up. “Would… would your blood be more concentrated or something?”

Pam flashed Harley a smile. “Genius, Harl. Blood would be perfect, I think. From what I understand of the outcomes of the experimentation, my fluids are the most toxic part of me.” She got to her feet and strode over to the bag she’d brought in with her when she first came to the hospital. Rummaging through it, she pulled out a needle and winked at Harley. “I brought it for the serum. For you.”

“Lucky us it’s coming in handy again,” Harley said with a grin.

Pam settled down with her back against the wall with the window and stretched out her left arm confidently, needle poised above it.

Her hand quivered as she stared at her arm. At first, Harley thought she was looking for a vein, but Pam’s expression was changing. A wave of emotions crossed over her face: pain, anxiety, fear. The needle hadn’t even neared her skin.

Harley was out of the hospital bed almost immediately. She’d had time to heal since Pam woke her up, but it was still the first time she’d tried to rise. Her legs didn’t really hold her up well, but she didn’t need them to. She fell to her knees next to Pam and reached out.

The needle clattered to the floor. Pam stared at her arm. This close, Harley could see the faint marks tracking up it, ghosts of previous needle punctures.

“ _It’s like he’s here_ ,” Pam whispered, and all of a sudden she didn’t seem so strong anymore. Her shoulders were quivering. “ _It’s like I’m there.”_

Harley wrapped her good arm around Pam, and Pam leaned into her, her whole body quaking. Harley smoothed her fingers through Pam’s hair. “It’s alright,” she said, trying to make herself sound reassuring. “You’re here with me, Pam, you’re safe, we’re in the hospital.” She repeated the same things over and over again, trying to make Pam understand that it was _okay_.

They sat there together on the cold hospital floor and waited it out. Slowly, slowly, Pam stilled to Harley’s touch.

 _God_ , Harley felt guilty. She’d been the one to suggest blood. How could she be so stupid? She filed away the information in the part of her brain saved for Important Things. A trigger for Pam: needles.

She wished Woodrue was alive so she could kill him again.

“Hey,” Harley said, stroking Pam’s hair, “we don’t need to do that, okay? Don’t worry about it, we’ll figure something else out.”

“ _I’m sorry_ ,” Pam whispered, her voice hoarse. “ _I wasn’t strong enough_.”

Harley got the feeling she wasn’t talking about stabbing herself with a needle.

“Shh, Pam-a-lamb,” Harley said, tipping Pam’s chin up. “It wasn’t you. You’ve always been as strong as you needed to be. Hell, you’ve been way stronger than me. May I remind you,” Harley cleared her throat, as she always had when what she was announcing seemed particularly important, “you literally _saved your own life_ by convincing a fucking _serial killer_ to put the chemicals _you_ wanted in your body instead of letting him fuck it all up. Because you’re, like, a fucking super-genius.”

Pam laughed, wetly, gaze darting up at Harley. There were dried tracks of tears on her cheeks. Harley smoothed a thumb down one. “Besides that, Red,” she added, “you saved me. I… I don’t deserve someone as amazing as you.”

Pam hiccupped. “Not true,” she protested. “I don’t deserve _you_ , daisy. I never have.”

Harley shrugged. “Can’t argue with that,” she said. “I _do_ have a rockin’ hot bod. And—”

Pam leaned up and kissed her.

Pam tasted like salt and sadness. The kiss felt bittersweet and, for the first time, _needy_. Not the passion of their earlier kisses, when it seemed like Pam was making up for years of lost time and Harley was all too happy to oblige. This time, it felt like a question.

Harley answered it.

Also – and she _hated_ herself for this, really did, because she definitely wanted to lose herself in Pam and make out for as long as she could before fainting from lack of air – the kiss gave her an idea.

She drew back, grabbed the bag of peas, and lifted it, shaking it around so the peas inside made a rattling noise. “So blood won’t work,” she acknowledged, “but hear me out here. What about spit?”

As it turned out, spit would work perfectly fine. It was a little gross when Pam was… _applying_ it, but once it had dried onto the peas, you couldn’t even tell.

Pam lifted Harley gently back into the hospital bed when she was finished up with distributing her poison. While the peas were drying, she and Harley picked up where they’d left off.

<><><>

“Pamela.”

If looks could take physical form, Mrs. Isley’s would’ve been a spike of ice driving straight for Pam’s heart. Pam deflected it with ease. All it took was thinking about what she’d done to receive such a cold welcome. For Harley? Definitely worth it. A hundred times worth it.

“Lillian,” Pam said, inclining her head. “Paul.”

Her mother was processing Pam’s new skin color. Pam could tell it shocked her because she set down the New York Times. Only truly shocking events ever got her to do that in the middle of breakfast.

“Pamela,” her father said, choosing the moment to mimic his wife as he placed his coffee cup back down on its coaster.

This was when Harley would’ve cracked a joke about the Isley family going back and forth and saying each other’s names until only one member was left standing. But Pam wasn’t Harley.

She kind of expected to be more stressed, but she just felt… calm.

“May I ask why you’ve decided to return?” Her mother’s voice was pitched just slightly higher than normal. Most people wouldn’t have noticed it; Pam, however, recognized it for what it was. Lillian Isley was on the defensive.

Pam stepped forward and pulled back a chair for herself, settling onto it. She let the silence stand, let her parents get their fill of looking at her, before she gave them any relief. “Well,” she said, running her thumb over the smooth wooden arm of her chair, “I didn’t feel we had a chance to truly settle everything between us.”

“As I said in no uncertain terms over the phone,” her mother said, a pinched look on her face, “you’ve been disowned. We want nothing more to do with you.”

“And then you quite courteously hung up on me,” Pam reminded her. “I’m just here for a little closure.”

“What closure is there to be had?” her father piped up. “We disagree with your lifestyle choices, Pamela. Your mother and I did our best—”

“May I just say,” Pam interrupted, knowing that she was being rude and somewhat reveling in it, “that I truly appreciate how focused you two are on the revelation of my sexuality rather than, oh, I don’t know, the fact that I was kidnapped and tortured in a mad scientist’s basement for more than a week.” She smiled amiably, leaning forward to set her elbows on the table. “It’s quite characteristic of you.”

Lillian Isley shifted uncomfortably. “Well, of course,” she said, tone waffling, (oh, _good_ , Pam was truly getting under her skin) “we offer our condolences.”

“Your _condolences_ ,” Pam said. “How sweet. If you’d had your way, I would be positively _swimming_ in medical debt right now for the sin of surviving a serial killer. And as much as I would love to place the blame upon the American healthcare system, the truth is that you are my _parents_ and you were going to leave that burden on my shoulders.”

Her father stood up, crossing his arms. It was a stance that had always cowed her when she lived with them; it meant things were getting serious. “You gave us no choice, Pamela. We did our best to guide you.”

“Did you think that camp was cheap?” Her mother butted in. “We _invested_ in you, Pamela. We invested in your future and your soul. And you repay us with sin. You don’t even seem to regret it.” She gestured towards Pam, towards her skin. “This is God’s judgement upon you. Ours follows his. _You are no longer our daughter_.”

Pam tossed back her head and laughed. Just _laughed_ , because how could she have ever found her parents intimidating? How could she have allowed them to be the ultimate authorities in her life for so long? They were just scared little rich people with shriveled-up hearts.

For an instant, she considered raising her arms and calling to the rosebushes. Sending vines smashing through the window to show them what she could really do.

Maybe, if Woodrue had done worse to her, she would have. If Bruce hadn’t been there, if Harley hadn’t broken through her own storm clouds to become Pam’s sun. Maybe Pam would’ve done more than just speak to her parents. Maybe their skin would know what it felt like to be pricked; they would know what it was like to be torn apart by someone they had, at least for a time, trusted.

But that wasn’t Pam now.

“This,” she said, dragging her index finger down her forearm, “is _not_ a judgement, mother. This is a gift. And on the topic of sin, I cannot envision one worse than abandoning your daughter in her hour of need.”

Her father opened his mouth to speak. Pam lifted her hand to stop him. “I came for one purpose and one purpose only,” Pam said. “I just wanted to clear the air. The power is not yours, not any longer. I never want to hear from you again, and I want you to know that this is _my_ choice. I know my path. I know I don’t want it to cross yours. You have no claim on me.”

“We wouldn’t have it any other way,” her father said, voice terse.

Pam stood languorously, stretching her arms over her head like she had all the time in the world. They were the ones waiting for her next move – maybe even _frightened_ of what she might do. But she was the one who didn’t care anymore. She never had to care about what they thought again.

It was a very freeing thought.

“I’ll pray for you,” Pam said, meeting the gazes of each of her parents in turn. “I’ll pray that your hearts grow. I will pray that God gives you a sign that he has blessed me.” The corner of her mouth quirked up. “If your roses bloom in the middle of winter, mother, consider it a miracle. A sign that you were wrong and that you need to examine your faith before He examines _you_.”

She paused in the doorway, looking over her shoulder at her parents, still frozen in place. Her mother looked almost… _scared_.

 _I can’t believe I used to love you,_ Pam thought, and wondered if she ever truly had.

She turned away.

They didn’t deserve a goodbye.


	19. Dead Man Walking (and then... not doing that)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's finally happening!

Harley hummed as she worked.

The black-eyed peas were simmering on the stove. She’d turned the radio on, and it was tuned to an old Dixie Chicks song with a rocking guitar line and a hook that wouldn’t leave Harley’s head. Jay wasn’t back yet, though she didn’t expect him to be; he’d told her he’d be late tonight.

“In time for dinner?” she’d asked, blinking up at him innocently.

“Of course, Harley baby,” Jay said, leaning down for a kiss. She faked it as best she could, even though his lips felt cold and empty against hers. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he added with a wink. “I bet it’ll be killer.”

It was the best joke he’d ever made and he wasn’t even in on it. That was irony for you.

The peas were the main course. She spiced them and prepared them like she normally would. There was no reason to assume Pam’s toxin would degrade with heat; she and Pam had discussed that possibility, and Pam had determined that there would be no issues on that front, given what she could surmise of her toxins’ chemical makeup.

Pam should be outside by now, Harley thought – behind the cabin, where the backyard tapered off into the woods. She’d have taken the long route so she wouldn’t be seen on any of the roads, just in case. They were being careful. So careful.

Harley imagined Pam crouching between the trees, radiating full-on forest-spirit vibes. Waiting.

It was already almost dark, the short wintertime days acting in their favor. The curtains were drawn so nobody knew Harley had returned home, and besides that, the darkness would provide cover for Pam outside the house.

The door slammed open. _Jay_ , Harley thought, wincing involuntarily. She schooled her features into a smile as she scooped the peas onto two plates, giving Jay a healthy (or… not so much) serving. Add to that a few ribs and some mashed potatoes, and you had yourself a dinner fit for a king.

He came into the kitchen, whistling a jovial end-of-the-day tune, and wrapped his arms around her from behind. He was still wearing his big coat, and it was cold against her bare shoulders. She tilted up her head, as was expected, and let him kiss her.

“Now just look at what a pretty picture you are,” Jay said sweetly, rocking with her in time to the music – the previous song had ended and made way for a country song about back porches and cold beer that was very quintessentially Tennessee. “My wife in the kitchen, whipping up the most bee-you-tee-ful dinner I’ve ever seen.” He drew out the syllables, skimming his thumbs across her hip bones as he embraced her.

He leaned close and whispered, “ _can I expect the royal treatment_ after _dinner, too?”_

“Fuck yeah,” Harley said, trying to sound excited as she leaned back into him. _There will be no after dinner_ , she thought.

“What enthusiasm, Harley!” He drew back. “Looks like you’ll just have to be patient.” It sounded like he was trying to tease her. It came across as just plain annoying.

And also – god _damn_ , she was a good actress. It seemed like he couldn’t tell how much revulsion crawled across her skin when she even thought about being with him again. After Pam… Harley couldn’t imagine going back to sleeping with Jay. Even kissing him felt like locking lips with a dead fish, for all the passion it aroused in her.

Not to mention the fact that he didn’t seem to care that she was still so beat up from what _he had done_ that she had to make what felt like a dozen trips back and forth between the kitchen and the dining room table to set up. It was rough getting the meal and their drinks out with only one functional arm.

And did he offer to help? No, sirree. He just sat there like a prince being waited upon.

She sat down awkwardly – her leg still wasn’t doing too well – and smiled at him. He grinned back – and then his expression caught. “Harley,” he said, in the slow and measured way that meant trouble was brewing, “where’s your wedding ring?”

 _Oh, fuck_. She looked down at her hand, at her bare ring finger. “Must’ve forgotten to grab it,” she said, getting to her feet. “So sorry, Jay.”

As she turned away, she wanted to slam her palm into her forehead. Forgetting her _wedding ring?_ Was that enough to make him suspicious? She stumbled into their bedroom and found it where she’d left it. She slipped it back on. It almost felt slimy to wear the thing again; it was no longer warmed to her body temperature, and it just felt like an impersonal hunk of metal. Like a tag announcing that she was still his.

She hated it.

When she got back to the table, she saw that he hadn’t touched his food. He didn’t _look_ like he was preparing to murder her before she could do the same, but he also wasn’t digging in.

“You made my favorites,” Jay said, voice tinged with uncertainty.

“I did,” she beamed. “I thought you deserved something special.”

He frowned. She could almost see him working through what might be happening. The logic of it: if she had really wanted to leave him, if she’d come back for a _purpose_ , what better way to rid the world of him than a little bit of poison in his food?

He spoke up. “Is it too hot?”

“What?”

Jay repeated himself. “Try it,” he said, “is it too hot?”

Harley took a bite of the ribs. One of the mashed potatoes. And then, without hesitating, tried the peas.

She almost expected something to happen – that they would prickle in her mouth like Pop Rocks or burn on the way down. But nothing did. They tasted like her normal peas – delicious.

She swallowed and shrugged at Jay. “Temperature seems all right to me.”

Jay grinned and shoveled an enormous helping of peas into his mouth.

Victory flared in Harley’s chest. She took a few more bites of the peas. She wouldn’t have if she and Pam weren’t 100% sure that the toxins wouldn’t do anything to Harley, but after so much exposure to Pam’s saliva in an entirely different setting, Harley was pretty confident in her immunity in that regard.

She tried to eat like she normally did, which was at a much slower pace than Jay. He’d cleared his plate and gotten seconds (an even larger helping of peas than she’d given him the first time, Harley noticed proudly) in the time it took her to get halfway through her meal. By the time she’d finished, he was cleaning out the pan she’d put the peas in.

This was the experimental part. Bruce had gotten copies of Woodrue’s papers for Pam after they’d been taken into evidence, and Pam had looked at some of the initial results of the toxicity swabs Woodrue had done on her as she and Harley had hatched the plan. The results were helpful but not conclusive. Specifically, Pam didn’t know how long the toxin would take to kick in.

“If he has a large enough dose,” she’d mused, twirling a lock of red hair around her index finger, “he should be affected more quickly than Woodrue. But I really couldn’t tell you how long it would take to arrest his muscle functions. I hypothesize that my poison is primarily neurotoxin-based, so there should be some immediate acute neurological impairment, but…” Harley had watched Pam go on with the sciency mumbo-jumbo but stopped listening. She got the gist. Jay would die, but they didn’t know how long it would take.

At the table, he knocked back a cold Corona and burped. He set the bottle on the table, leaned back, and laced his fingers across his belly.

“You’ve really outdone yourself, Harley,” he said, sighing in contentment. “I knew I was doing the right thing when I taught you that lesson.”

 _The right thing? Leaving me_ bleeding _on the fucking floor was the_ right thing? It was all she could do to stay in her seat. All at once, her rage was at a fever pitch; she was seething. And she couldn’t move for fear that she’d give him a warning.

Regrets about what was going to happen? That wasn’t even a concern for her right now. She just wanted the poison to do its job so she could be done with it. Done with him. And then—

“What was that extra kick in the peas?” Jay asked, and her heart nearly stopped beating.

Technically, he could probably still make himself throw up. Maybe he’d be okay if he did that. Maybe he’d survive. “They tasted all right to me, Jay,” she said, pushing her last few peas around her plate.

“No,” he said, “I mean, there was an extra _kick_ to ‘em tonight. Like hot sauce, but better. They were different. What spices did you stick in?”

Harley smiled and winked. “That’s _my_ secret, baby. A new recipe I was trying out.”

“Well, you’d better keep it up,” Jay said, raising an eyebrow. He leaned forward, gaze drifting downward over her body in the possessive way she used to think was a silent compliment. “You know, Harls, that shirt is _really_ putting me in the mood.” He grinned. “I’d love to take it off you.”

Harley got a dull feeling in her stomach when he said that. She was still running through excuses in her head when he stood up.

Or, rather, _attempted_ to stand up.

He sort of stumbled, pressing his hands into the table to steady himself as he sat back down. “Oof,” he said, frowning, “blood rushed to my head.”

That was not what Harley thought had rushed to his head.

He tried to stand up again. Again, he sat back down heavily. “Are you… are you feeling weak?” Harley said, trying to sound more worried than vindicated. He could still be dangerous right now if he realized what was happening. A spark of adrenaline shot up into her throat.

“I don’t know,” Jay said, pressing the base of his palm to his forehead. “I’ve got a _splitting_ headache.”

“Why don’t you lay down and sleep, Jay?” Harley suggested, trying to sound somewhat soothing. “I don’t mind. I can wait.”

He nodded, scratching at the back of his head. “Yeah. Yeah. That sounds—”

He lost his balance on the chair and tipped over onto the floor, landing on his side. He grunted in pain. “Harley, I think you should call… call 911.”

“Oh,” she said sweetly, standing up and coming around the edge of the table. She leaned over next to him, her hair swinging down to brush the floor. “Call 911? The way you did at Selina’s house?”

“I’m not _joking_ , Harl—” he said, and then he understood what she meant. She could see it in the moment his face shifted from _I’m in trouble_ to _I’m in deep shit_.

Like the moment she’d caught his hand before he could hit her, way back before she’d left him. He hadn’t expected that. He’d never expected this.

“But you—” he groaned, doubling over, but forced out the words anyway. “But _you ate it too?_ ”

“Aw, fuck,” Harley said, rolling her eyes. She made a fake gargling sound and pantomimed clawing at her throat. “Looks like I’m gonna fucking _die_.”

“You _poisoned_ me. Why…” he stammered out, and for a moment she thought he had the _nerve_ to ask why she’d done such a thing. Until he licked his lips and murmured, “why aren’t _you_ …” He trailed off.

“I’m a big girl,” Harley said, squatting down so she could look him in the eye, “I got my shots.”

“Someone helped,” Jay spat out the accusation, his eyes narrowing. One of his eyelids started to twitch.

“Actually,” the Someone in question said, her voice smooth and comforting from behind Harley, “you’re entirely correct on that point.”

“ _Pammie,”_ Jay hissed out, wrapping his arms around his stomach as he curled into the fetal position.

Harley stood and turned, and there she was, standing in the doorway. Tall and lovely, her red hair pulled back into a high ponytail, her hands tucked into the front pocket of Selina’s black sweatshirt. Harley never saw Pam with her hair up. It became suddenly very difficult to swallow.

Pam raised an eyebrow at Harley. “Good timing?”

“The best,” Harley said, holding out her hand.

Pam had been ready to come in for backup, if that was what had been needed. But it didn’t have to be the physical kind. As much as Harley was ready for this, as much as she’d needed it to happen, she didn’t want to be alone.

Pam looped an arm around Harley’s waist. She smelled comforting, of forests and dirt and roses. “How’d the thing with your parents go, Pam-a-lamb?” Harley asked, leaning up against her.

“Terribly,” Pam said, then smirked. “For them.”

“You’re a _bitch_ ,” Jay spat.

“And you’re a pathetic little man who thought he could get away with half a year of abuse and one night of attempted murder,” Pam shot back, looking down at Jay like he was a bug. “I don’t think the moniker you’ve given me is all that bad in comparison, do you?

“Harley,” Jay shifted his attention, “Harley, please, help me. I love you.”

“You do?” Harley shook her head in mock surprise. “Gee, go figure! I thought I was just a housewife and a punching bag rolled into one.”

He closed his eyes, face morphing into a mask of hatred. “Fuck you,” he said. “Fuck you both.”

“Not the most salient of last words,” Pam said, leaning into Harley.

Harley was feeling a little shaky. Pam’s touch steadied her. “At least his last meal was a good one,” she said, “I can attest.”

They stood there together by the dining room table as the leftover ribs cooled and the life drained out of his eyes.

<><><>

Harvey Dent sat at the tiny desk he’d been assigned when he’d been hired as a town cop and stared down at the hospital report. He kneaded his temples as he scanned it. God… he couldn’t help but feel like he needed to beat himself up for this. It was all his fault – Harley had filed her restraining order with _him_. Maybe he should’ve caught on, should’ve acted as a one-man detail for her for the first few days after she’d split with her husband.

Jack “Jay” Napier. Harvey glanced at the clock; he’d already stayed late today, and he reminded himself that it wouldn’t do any good to go chasing a psychopath when he still needed to get home and recharge. He’d swing by the man’s residence in the morning to bring him in – if he was there. Mr. Napier seemed like the kind of man who might skip town if he knew there was a warrant for his arrest floating around the Littleton Police Department.

Harvey was frustrated with his superiors, to say the least. Not that he’d disliked being assigned the Napier case, but they’d been up in arms about a series of home burglaries that had begun in Foxville and trickled over into Littleton. The department’s focus was there, not on some “paltry domestic violence hoo-hah,” as Harvey’s boss put it. So Harvey was working this one alone – his first solo case.

All that being the case, he felt like he could use a little backup. He didn’t want this man to go unfound. Not when it came to Harley.

With a sigh, Harvey picked up his phone and dialed an old friend’s number.

He’d heard a certain private eye was back in town, and if anyone could help him track down a serial abuser at all costs, it was Bruce Wayne.


	20. Harleen Quinzel's 10 Tips for Hiding a Body

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those hardcore Harley/Ivy fans out there, watch for a quick tribute to one of the giants in the fandom (AmberZ10, of course)

Okay, so Harley cried a little.

She only did it after Jay was well and truly dead. She sat on the floor with Pam, a few feet away from her ex-husband’s body, and sniffled until it stopped.

“I’m not _sorry_ ,” she reassured Pam, wanting to make sure Pam got it. This wasn’t Harley getting cold feet after the deed was already done; this was her moment for acknowledging what she and Jay had had. For being sad that it was over. And also… for accepting the wave of relief that had washed over her when she’d seen his chest stop its rise and fall.

She didn’t have to say anything. She knew Pam understood.

And as much as she very much wanted to kiss Pam right now, to let Pam comfort her here, Harley’s parents had raised her right. She might be willing to commit murder if her rationale was righteous, but kissing in front of a corpse seemed like it was maybe taking it a bit too far.

“It’s all right, daisy,” Pam crooned, stroking Harley’s hair. “I’m here.”

<><><>

After Harley was done crying came the real work.

They had to make her existence in the house today disappear, and they had to do it quick. Jay hadn’t bled at all – though there had been some foam leaking out of the corners of his mouth as he’d died – so there wasn’t anything remarkably incriminating to clean up except for the markers of Harley’s presence.

Not only that, but anything that could indicate Jay had been here at _all_ in the last day.

They’d decided early on to try to make it look like he’d skipped town. It was all too plausible; after all, Harley knew the cops would be making their attempt to bring him in soon – probably tomorrow morning – given the charges that had been filed against him for aggravated assault.

Pam had pushed for attempted murder, but Harley had still been deciding when she got in touch with the police. Like, yeah, it was true, but she didn’t know if it would make the cops think she had even more reason to get back at him. So she stuck with the aggravated assault charge for now.

Pam left Harley in the house, though only briefly – and with a guilty look that Harley thought she wasn’t supposed to have seen – as she left quietly through the back door. She fetched a tarp from the woods. It was new. She’d bought it with cash a town over earlier in the day.

“You know,” Harley said, helping to get the body situated to roll up in the tarp, “if it was summer, we could’ve just dumped him in the lake.”

Pam winced. “Sounds like an ecologically irresponsible choice.”

“I love that that’s where your brain goes. Never change, Pam-a-lamb.”

Jay felt heavier now that he was dead. It took both of them to roll him up satisfactorily in the tarp, though it was certainly worth the effort. Harley hadn’t particularly liked looking at him: the gauntness in his cheeks, the strange ways his body had seemed to distort now that there was no Jay inside of it.

She’d noticed that he still had bruises on his knuckles from when he’d attacked her. He always had been easy to bruise, slow to heal. _That’s irony for ya_ , she thought, standing up and heading to the kitchen to wash her hands. Those bruises never _would_ heal. Not now.

“How are we doing on time, Pam?” Harley carried the dishes over to the sink and started scrubbing at them, then reconsidered. She got to work on the pan she’d used for the beans instead, leaving the rest to sit and stew. It’d be just like Jay to leave dirty dishes if he _had_ skipped town.

Pam carried the glasses over from the kitchen table. “Forty minutes ‘til I told Selina to expect us back. We could probably push it a little. If we assume that she’ll trust us if we tell her we were making out and lost track of time.”

“Since that’s totally plausible,” Harley said, giving the pan a final buff, “I’d say we could take our time. But… not if we don’t have to.”

Pam clucked her tongue and took the pan from Harley. “Jesus, Harl, your arm is still busted. Here, let me.” She grabbed a towel off the rack and got to work drying the pan, then hesitated. “Where…”

Harley opened the cabinet next to the sink – it was where she’d kept all their pots and pans since she moved in with Jay. They were stacked in an unwieldy tower that made Pam wrinkle her nose just looking at it. Harley felt only marginally embarrassed.

Carefully, using the towel to touch the containers in the cupboard, Pam lifted a few of them off the top of the stack and squeezed the clean pan in between a deep pot and a cast iron pan. She let the other pots and pans settle down, ensuring they wouldn’t go tumbling if she gave the slightest indication of letting go.

They didn’t worry about Harley’s fingerprints. It was only natural they’d be all over the house. But Pam was cautious not to leave any of her own.

It only took them a few more minutes to make sure the rest of the kitchen was cleaned up, and when Harley glanced back at the dining room, it was spotless. She smiled – and, ok, maybe it was a little weird to feel proud about how good you and your girlfriend were at doing murder, but it was a nice feeling nevertheless, so Harley didn’t press it.

All that was left was the body.

Pam switched off the lights one by one and left them in the dark. It could’ve felt creepy but didn’t; it was Pam’s presence that did it, Harley thought.

“You all right, petal?”

“One hundred percent,” Harley replied. She flicked on the penlight from her keychain and focused it on Jay, as if to make sure he was still there, then turned it off again.

“Think you can make it across the yard in the dark?”

“Don’t be such a worrywart, Pam,” Harley said, smiling at the general area of dark room she expected Pam to exist in. “I don’t need super special magic plant powers to know not to fucking trip with a dead body.”

Pam’s voice sharpened. “You’re not carrying him. Not with your arm.”

Harley rolled her eyes. “Oh, what, so you can just lift a full-grown man all by—”

In the dark, she heard Pam grunt as something very heavy shifted. There was a sliding sound, too, like tarp rubbing against tarp.

“Don’t tell me you just picked him up.”

“I just picked him up.” The strain in Pam’s voice was controlled but evident. “Please don’t argue, Harley, get the back door.”

Harley didn’t argue. She got the back door.

It was a little easier to see Pam when they were both outside. The moonlight trickled down on the bare yard; they hurried across it. Pam’s breathing was labored. Harley felt immensely guilty, even if she knew stubbornly insisting on helping would just take more time and energy than letting Pam do it.

They got to the safety of the trees without incident. Pam huffed out a sigh of relief.

She still didn’t ask for Harley’s help.

“You know,” Harley said gently, “we could still do it the other way. Stuff him in the trunk, drive out to the lake, etcetera. I know it drains you to—”

“No,” Pam said, “I’m fine.” That was the end of that.

Pam’s pace slowed the longer they walked, but after a while, Harley piped up again. “I think we’ve gone far enough.” Her breath came out in a cold puff of mist against the frigid air. She rubbed her bare arms. The adrenaline had kept her warm thus far, but the chill was starting to get to her. “Nobody will be able to see the light from here,” Harley added.

At first, she thought Pam wasn’t going to listen. That she might just keep walking until she passed out under Jay – that she wouldn’t stop until she was _sure_ she’d protected Harley enough. Instead, Pam dropped the body. It landed with a heavy _thunk_ on the frozen ground.

Harley rubbed her hands together. “Is here good?”

“Mmm,” Pam said, catching her breath. “Yes. Light, please?”

Harley fumbled around with her penlight. It felt too bright when she turned it on, illuminating Pam and the tarp at her feet. They were in a small clearing. Trees crowded them in on all sides, tall and black and foreboding. Harley shivered.

“You don’t have to watch,” Pam said.

“Are you kidding me? Where’s the popcorn, I’m here for the show!” Harley tried to laugh – her teeth chattered instead.

Pam frowned. Before Harley could understand what she was doing, she was pulling off her sweatshirt and tossing it Harley’s way. “Don’t mention it,” Pam said, turning back to the tarp and its telltale lump. “I can’t work if I think you’re not comfortable.”

Harley suppressed a protest, mumbled out a thank you, and pulled the sweatshirt on.

It was warm and smelled like Selina’s perfume. She caught a hint of Pam’s scent, too, when she pulled the hoodie on. She stopped shivering.

And then Pam raised her arms, and Harley watched.

Pam had closed her eyes. She was keeping her breaths measured; her fingertips lifted and fell mere millimeters with each breath. Harley felt almost like she shouldn’t breathe herself, like it might upset the balance of what Pam was doing. She tried to stay quiet.

It wasn’t a sight Harley would’ve been able to see nearly as well if Pam had still been wearing the sweatshirt, which made her feel better about letting Pam give it to her. Tracks of glowing green had begun to snake down Pam’s arms and up her neck, pulsing further and further down her limbs in a rhythm to match her heartbeat. Harley stared, enraptured, as the roots of the trees nearest to Pam began to shift, curling up out of the ground as if answering her call.

Pam’s lips cracked open, her brow furrowing in concentration. All around her, the plants were writhing. But their movement wasn’t random – they weren’t just writhing, they were _reaching_.

Towards the tarp at Pam’s feet.

Tendrils of budding green reached for the corpse. Vines and roots curled around the body and the tarp, pulling both down into the ground. It was like the frozen dirt had become quicksand; the plants moved within the earth, roiling as they forced the ground to accept its new package of fertilizer. The earth was pliant. The tarp slowly sunk further and further until Harley could barely see a tuft of green hair that had poked out of the plastic.

And then it was gone entirely.

Pam looked radiant. Her arms were still outstretched, the light emanating from her pulsing with each heartbeat as the plants returned to their places. Roots settled back into their hollows, vines withered and shrank away to await spring. Pam’s nose had started bleeding, but Harley was scared that interrupting whatever she was doing would hurt her worse, so she just stayed where she was. And stayed amazed.

Gradually, the green light faded from Pam’s skin. The penlight illuminated a clearing that looked much the same as the one they’d entered – but for the fact that there was no sign a tarp and the weight it carried had ever been there.

The last of the green disappeared, and Pam collapsed.

Harley was by her side in an instant, crouching next to her in the dirt. “Pam? _Pam.”_

“I’m fine,” Pam mumbled, frowning as Harley shone the penlight on her face. “Just… rest.” She blinked; her eyes were still laced with glowing green. They refused to focus on Harley. She was shaking, too, tiny trembles shivering down her arms.

“Any other time, Pam,” Harley said, trying to stay steady. “But it’s night, it’s freezing, and we need to get back to Selina’s before she assumes Jay ambushed the both of us and calls the cops.”

Pam seemed to react to that, at least. “Police?”

“Yessiree Bob. No cops, remember? We gotta get to the car.” Harley pulled at Pam’s shoulders. “ _C’mon_ , Pam.”

“I think… I think I spent too much,” Pam muttered. Harley tried to shine the penlight in her eyes; Pam groaned and held her hand up to block the light. She made an irritated noise. “So much green. Comfortable.” Her hand reached for the ground, searching out… something. Harley tried to imagine what she’d just gone through: connecting to all those plants, so much a part of them that they did her bidding, and then pulling out again. No wonder Pam was getting lost in the green after what she’d just done.

 _Okay,_ Harley thought, _we can do this. We can do this._ “We can fucking do this,” she said aloud.

The forest looked back on her with reproach. _Little girl in the woods, cursing because she wants to make herself feel effective._ Useless. Harley bit her lip.

What could get Pam moving? What could bring her back?”

Harley kissed her.

Pam tasted a little like blood. It didn’t feel like the kiss did very much, because Pam didn’t move. So Harley kissed her again.

This time, Pam shifted against her, and her hand crept ever so slightly back away from the ground.

Harley kissed the spot just under Pam’s chin, where her jaw met her neck, and Pam made a little sound of pleasure. Her hand found Harley’s waist.

 _Okay_. Harley dipped her head a little lower and pressed a cold kiss to the spot in between Pam’s collarbones.

Pam jolted at that, her eyes fluttering open. She focused on Harley, and her eyes were just that: her eyes. No extra green glow, no far-off look.

“C’mon, Pam,” Harley said softly, gently, “we’ve got to go.”

<><><>

In the end, they walked out of the woods together, no carrying needed – though Pam did at first lean on Harley as they walked. Less for physical support, and more as if Harley grounded her in the reality of humanity.

They hadn’t gone terribly far into the woods, though Harley almost got turned around once before Pam frowned and told her they needed to keep going straight. Harley didn’t ask how Pam knew. She worried that doing so might push Pam back into that dreamy, not-quite-present, plant-demigoddess state.

Pam got better the further they walked from the clearing. Near the edge of the forest, she wasn’t even leaning on Harley anymore, just walking with Harley’s hand lightly clasped in her own. They didn’t exit the forest nearby Jay’s cabin, but instead came out at a small dirt road. Pam had parked her car by the side of it; Harley had confirmed when they were still in the planning stage that no one ever used it anymore.

Harley wasn’t quite sure if Pam was fit to drive, but she didn’t really have a choice in the matter, given the whole mess of her arm. She shouldn’t have worried; the trip back to Selina’s was uneventful. Pam even smiled at her when they got there, lifting her watch. “Only four minutes late,” she said.

“And we _were_ making out,” Harley reminded her, “so it wouldn’t even be a lie to say it.”

When they came in, cheeks red from the cold, Selina looked over from the couch, where she and Maggie were watching _The Silence of the Lambs_. She raised an eyebrow at Harley. Harley realized that she was still wearing the sweatshirt.

Now it wasn’t just the cold making her cheeks red.

“Hey, girls,” Selina said, “care to join us for movie night? We’re only like 10 minutes in. We can restart if you want.”

“I’ve never seen that one,” Pam said, eyeing the screen.

“Wait,” Harley turned on her incredulously, “you’ve never seen _Silence of the Lambs?_ Holy _fuck_ , Pam, how the hell have we been friends for fucking _forever_ without me knowing that? It seems like a _vital_ piece of information!”

“My parents don’t condone,” Pam shifted into a near-perfect impression of her mother, “ _senseless acts of violence in horror cinema_.”

“But, like, that’s all horror movies are,” Maggie piped up from the other side of the couch.

“Well,” Selina said, “your parents also don’t condone _me_ , and they _certainly_ don’t condone the sappy shit you and Harley have got going on, so,” she shifted over and patted the couch next to her, “why don’t you give senseless acts of violence a try?”

With Pam curled up against her and Clarice outsmarting a killer onscreen, Harley could almost forget where they’d been less than an hour ago. Better yet, she could feel Pam relaxing against her, the tension going out of her shoulders. Even though the final scene of the movie had her clutching Harley’s good arm a little too hard.

Harley, of course, didn’t mind.

<><><>

Selina hadn’t changed much of the setup for their sleeping situation, so Harley was curled up against Pam underneath those same butterfly sheets. Pam’s was obviously exhausted; almost as soon as they’d crawled into bed, she’d fallen asleep.

Harley couldn’t blame her. Those tree powers sure did seem _sapping_.

She wished Pam was awake so she could tell her that joke.

It didn’t take long for Harley to fall asleep, too. She was far too comfortable, what with Pam’s warm skin and familiar scent cradling her. It was enough to keep a thought nagging Harley’s mind, like a word at the tip of her tongue, from bothering her.

<><><>

Bruce was awake bright and early, waiting for Harvey outside the Wayne house. He pulled up in the patrol car and unlocked the door for Bruce. “Hey, man,” Harvey said with a smile.

“Good to see you, Harvey,” Bruce said, slipping into the passenger’s seat. “We headed straight to the house?”

“I was thinking so. Coffee?”

“Thanks,” Bruce said, reaching for the cup.

“Thank _you_ ,” Harvey said, shifting into gear. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am you’re helping out with this one.”

“After what he did to Harley? It’s my pleasure,” Bruce said, taking a sip. He gave Harvey a nod, raising the cup in a miniature toast to their mission. “Let’s go nab this bastard.”

<><><>

Harley woke with the sun, as per usual. She’d slept deeply, better than she had ever since Jay had put her in the hospital. She thought it was probably the knowledge that he wasn’t out there anymore. He couldn’t hurt her. And even if he was and he could, her badass metahuman girlfriend would take him out for her.

She yawned and snuggled closer to Pam. Harley was still wearing the sweatshirt from last night, and just thinking about it made her smile. Pam hadn’t even hesitated, giving it to her when she’d seen how cold Harley was without a coat.

Without a… _oh no_.

The nagging thought slammed into focus with the speed of a bullet train. “Oh, _fuck_ ,” Harley said, only barely remembering to keep her voice low so Selina couldn’t hear her from the other room. Pam shifted in her sleep.

Harley shook Pam, frantic. “ _Pam_ ,” she hissed, _“wake up. Wake up!”_

Pam seemed to sense the urgency in her whispers. She cracked an eyelid and frowned, then blinked at Harley sluggishly. “Whazzat?”

“ _Pam,_ ” Harley said, “ _I forgot my fucking coat. My coat’s still at his house.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Et voila. The stakes rise yet again.


	21. Shortfalls and Close Calls

Pam drove like a demon. She hadn’t entertained any notion of Harley coming with her. As she’d pulled on her shoes, not bothering to tie the laces, she’d told Harley that Harley needed to stay behind to cover for Pam, if anything. She didn’t add that Harley would just slow her down, even if they were both thinking it.

And then Pam had flown out the door to her car and slammed on the gas.

She’d gone from peaceful slumber to fully awake in the few seconds it had taken Harley to tell her what the matter was. Now, as she drove at frankly frightening speeds down the winding packed-earth roads connecting Foxville to Littleton, she did exactly what she’d been warned against in Driver’s Ed and let herself get distracted.

Of course, that curriculum had been all about not texting or eating fast food while driving. They’d said nothing to the kids about communicating with the plant world while on the road. Pam thought now, if ever, was the time to give it a try.

She was still tired from what she’d done last night, and she could feel it – her muscles were as sore as if she’d run a marathon, not just convinced some trees to hide a dead body. Still, the thought of what would happen to Harley if they were caught was enough to spur Pam into more than just quick driving.

Taking deep breaths, she reached as far as she could – farther than she ever had – into the web of green that spanned Littleton. She didn’t let her eyes leave the road, but she could feel a million distractions threatening to steal away her attention. She kept a laser focus on her target: the police station.

One of the patrol cars was missing.

She turned into the warren of Littleton’s back roads and headed for the neighborhood next to Jay’s, slowing down only incrementally. A woman shot her the finger. Pam’s mind followed the grasses and weeds that bordered the roads of Littleton and pinpointed two cars out on the road besides her own, the vibrations of their wheels on the pavement percolating through the roots of the plants around them. One was headed out of town. One was headed her way.

 _Fuck fuck fuck_. Pam slammed her car into park, leapt out, and dashed across the street without looking either way. She sprinted into the woods, using them as cover as she raced towards Jay’s house. Half of her mind was still preoccupied with the other car. She could feel it moving inexorably closer to the cabin. She hurdled roots and ducked under branches without thinking about it, so attuned to the plants around her that it was only natural to know where she was situated within them, and burst out in the late Jack Napier’s backyard.

She used the sleeve of her jacket to open the back door of Jay’s house and slipped in quietly. He’d never locked it when Harley was living with him, and she and Harley had decided to leave it open. Pam thanked her lucky stars they’d made that choice; the car was pulling into the neighborhood.

She found Harley’s coat almost immediately and snagged it. She could hear car doors slamming in the front of the house, could feel two sets of feet on the grass. Pausing.

One started to come around to the back of the house.

And _yes_ , it made sense, of _course_ it made sense to send someone out back to keep Jay from flying the coop in that direction. The only problem was that Pam herself needed to fly the coop the same way, and judging by the fact that she’d only just reached the back door and the officer was already halfway around the cabin, there was no way she could make it back to the woods without being spotted.

Hoping beyond hope that she wasn’t making the ultimate idiotic decision, Pam shut the back door quietly behind her and raced around the corner of the house opposite to the officer.

She pressed her back up against the cabin’s exterior wall, Harley’s incriminating coat clutched in her hands. She could feel the person in front still waiting at the edge of the lawn. If she’d been wrong about the other officer, if he’d been making a round of the house instead of manning the back door…

She could feel his footsteps halt in the backyard. He didn’t move any further.

She was right. He’d stay there until they cleared the house, she supposed. She tried not to breathe. Not to do anything that might let the officers know she was there. And then the full gravity of the situation hit her.

Pam was pressed up against a wall with evidence she’d stolen from a crime scene – a crime scene _she had caused –_ with officers on either side of her.

Trapped.

<><><>

“Yeah, Pam’s fine,” Harley said, false smile plastered across her face. She realized she’d been stirring her Cheerios around in her bowl for a solid minute without putting any of them in her mouth. She very conscientiously took a bite and chewed.

“I’m just worried,” Selina said, pacing by the table. Maggie raced through the room and grabbed a chem textbook sitting on the table. She had a banana clasped between her teeth.

Without comment, Selina extended a hand to Maggie; Maggie snatched a USB drive out of it and muttered a garbled “Thanks, S’lina,” before slamming her way out the door.

“She’ll be okay, I promise,” Harley said, hoping it was true.

“She could’ve at least asked for backup,” Selina said, brow furrowed. “I wouldn’t have minded. Her parents are literally hellspawn.”

“So are yours,” Harley reminded her, “and you took care of that situation by yourself, remember? I don’t think she wanted you to worry. Besides, her parents are early risers – she probably just wanted to get it over with early in the day.”

“Early risers, my ass,” Selina said, finally cracking a smile. “More like vampires. I’d bet they _never_ sleep. Remember when we used to have sleepovers there?”

“And they got us up at six thirty sharp for breakfast on the weekends? Don’t remind me.” Harley forced a laugh.

“Still,” Selina said, “I know she can take care of herself… I’m just worried for her.”

“Yeah,” Harley said, staring down at her bowl. The cereal floated in soggy lumps. It was one of the most unappetizing things she’d ever seen, and she usually loved Cheerios. “Yeah,” she repeated, “I’m worried, too.”

<><><>

The front door of Jay’s cabin made an unpleasant cracking sound when the officer in front kicked it in. Pam could’ve sworn his voice sounded like Harvey Dent’s – he was a cop now, wasn’t he? – but she wouldn’t bet on it.

Of course, things got worse when she heard him calling out to the officer in the back that the coast was clear. Because _that_ officer’s voice was unmistakable. In fact, it wasn’t an officer at all.

Bruce Wayne. He’d been at Pam’s bedside in the hospital long enough that she could recognize his voice in an instant.

Pam and Harley had planned for Littleton cops whose biggest case ever had been the disappearance of Mrs. Tompkins’ terrier. (Everybody in town acknowledged that Mr. Wigglebum was a coyote’s dinner except Mrs. Tompkins herself, who insisted that he’d been kidnapped by dastardly blue blood breeders despite the fact that Mr. Wigglebum was not, in fact, a purebred dog.)

Pam and Harley had not planned for a motivated private investigator.

Even worse, she couldn’t use her plants to help her escape. A small-town policeman might chalk up plants moving in unnatural ways to all manner of things, but Bruce would know immediately who was behind it.

 _All right_ , she breathed _, I’m all right._ She still had one advantage: she could feel them through the grass they stood on. She knew where they were. Not when they were in the house, but when they were outside of it; that might be enough.

And she could hear Harvey opening the back door for Bruce.

This was her chance. She could stay put and hope that they didn’t circle the house before she could make a run for the woods, or she could take the risk, hope they didn’t have backup in the cop car, and leave by the front right now.

She couldn’t imagine Harvey sending Bruce to the back if there’d been any other officers with them.

Pam didn’t hesitate. She bolted for the front.

<><><>

Bruce examined the dirty dishes in the kitchen while Harvey searched the bedroom. Jack Napier might not have been gone long, but he was gone, all right.

“So weird,” Harvey called from the bedroom. “His car’s still here!”

That was a good point. Bruce did a quick web search. Local listings… “he sold it,” he called back to Harvey. “Recently. The buyer probably hasn’t picked it up yet. Smart. You can’t issue a BOLO for whatever car he’s driving now if you don’t know what it looks like.”

Bruce came back out to the main room. “I’m going to head outside, just check out the perimeter.” He stepped out the front door and onto the porch.

Something caught his eye to the right. A flash of red. He glanced over, but there was nothing there.

 _A cardinal_ , Bruce thought, eyeing the neighbor’s kitschy birdfeeder. _Must’ve been_.

Though he and Harvey scoured the house for hints to Mr. Napier’s location for what felt like hours, they couldn’t find a thing. There were traces of Harley scattered through the house, Bruce noticed – like the ghosts of her daily life. A hairbrush with a few blonde strands threaded through it, a black-and-red top supported by a dilapidated plastic hanger in the closet. Several of the hangers were empty, likely relics from a time when Napier had kept his clothes here. Only a few shirts remained.

 _We’ll find you, Jack_ , Bruce thought, frowning at the unmade bed. _We won’t stop until we do._

<><><>

Pam left the coat in her car.

She’d checked the pockets. Harley’s hospital bracelet had still been in one. That, plus the fact that Harley had had the coat with her at Selina’s when she’d left Jay, would’ve been more than incriminating. It would’ve been damning.

She was exhausted and the plants were still whispering at the edges of her mind. It didn’t matter that she didn’t have the energy to block them out entirely. She’d done what she needed to do.

Harley was waiting when Pam came in, but Selina had already gone off. “Pam!” Harley exclaimed, springing up from the couch. She threw her arms around Pam and buried her face in Pam’s shoulder. “ _Pam_ ,” she said again, like she couldn’t force as much relief as she felt into the word.

“What a warm welcome, petal.” Pam couldn’t stop a smile. It felt like the stress of the close encounter at the cabin was finally leaving endorphins in its wake.

“You made it.”

“Of course I made it.” Pam hesitated. “It was a bit close,” she admitted, “and Bruce is working with Harvey on the case, which complicates things for us.”

Harley groaned, leaning her head back away from Pam’s chest. Pam tried not to mind. “God, why are all our friends so fucking competent?” Harley let go of Pam entirely and flopped onto the couch dramatically. “Can’t a girl murder her husband in peace?”

Pam shushed her, but she didn’t really mean it. No one was around to hear. And, yeah, she really _was_ riding that post-escape high.

“I told Selina you were visiting your parents,” Harley said. “Just so you can use yesterday’s visit and all for details if she asks.”

“You’re very smart, daisy,” Pam said, shrugging off her jacket and hanging it in the entryway. She shot a look at Harley, stretched out on the couch. Still wearing the black sweatshirt from the night before. Pam swept her hair over her shoulder to one side as she approached the couch, then straddled Harley. On her hands and knees, palms planted in the couch on either side of Harley’s head, Pam stared down at her.

“Super smart,” Harley said with a grin, looking up at her. Pam’s hair fell in a wave, brushing Harley’s cheek. Her heart was beating very fast. Pam wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline anymore. All right, maybe it _was_ adrenaline. Maybe from a very different kind of excitement.

Harley looped her arms around Pam’s waist. She raised an eyebrow. Smoothed her hands up under the back of Pam’s shirt, her fingertips sidling their way up the arch of Pam’s back. Pam’s skin tingled where Harley’s hands skimmed across it.

Harley seemed to be able to tell; she bit her lip in a way that was quite infuriatingly sexy as she met Pam’s eyes and let her gaze drift downward. It was nearly unbearable. Pam made a little noise of _want_ that didn’t really encompass the fire in her stomach. “Want me to show you how smart I am?” Harley purred.

“Mmm,” Pam said.

They both knew that meant yes.


	22. If You Hear From Him, Let Us Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, folks, we're back to lyrical titles (at least for the moment) and police investigations. Enjoy.

The knock on the door came in the late afternoon.

Harley moaned and got to her feet. This time, she looked through the peephole before she opened the door. Sure, Jay was dead, but it never hurt to be certain. She had a girlfriend who could talk to plants. Who said an undead Jay zombie was out of the question?

No zombies. Only a uniformed cop and a private eye.

Harley opened the door. “Hi, Harvey. Heya Bruce.” _Be casual, Harley_ , she thought. _Super casual. Ultimate casual._ “Did you catch the sonuvabitch who tried to murder me?” _Okay, not that casual._

At least Bruce seemed to find it funny; he quirked a smile. Harvey, on the other hand, still looked immensely worried. “I’m really, truly sorry, Harley,” he said, tucking his thumbs awkwardly into his pockets, “but it looks like he’s left town.”

 _Don’t be suspicious._ “No fucking _way,_ ” Harley said. _No, that’s overdoing it._ “That is _so_ like him.” _Jesus, Harley, you sound like a fucking bimbo._ She swallowed, trying to get control of herself.

_Just chill out, girl. You’ll be fine._

“Can we come in? We thought you might be able to help us find him.”

“Of course.” Harley gave them a smile. “I’m doing better now, ya know. Healing. Pam’s been staying with me.”

Bruce and Harvey both raised knowing eyebrows. _Goddammit_ , Harley thought, _did_ everyone _know except for us?_

“Well, that was a long time coming,” Harvey commented, with the unfortunate effect of confirming Harley’s suspicions. How embarrassing. They could’ve avoided this whole mess if Harley had just bucked up and kissed Pam during prom senior year, when they’d gone with each other as a girls’ night out instead of picking up dates. Or on one of their late nights together by Wayne Lake, those lazy warm evenings where they walked and talked and looked out over the water. Or when they were stargazing on Harley’s roof, pinkies hooked, sharing the comfortable silence of close friendship…

Oh. She kinda saw it now.

Pam was showering, so for the first part of this interview – at the very least – Harley would be talking with Bruce and Harvey alone.

She headed to the kitchen to grab them soda pops from the fridge as they sat professionally on the couch. It was kinda funny; she was pretty sure Bruce slept here half the time he was in town. Seeing him pretend he wasn’t comfortable with the house made her stifle a giggle.

As she pulled open the refrigerator door, something glimmered in the light.

 _Aw, shit_. She was still wearing her wedding band.

Well, it wasn’t like she’d been waving her hand around in their face when they’d walked in. She surreptitiously slipped it off and slipped it under a bag of frozen peas – green, not black-eyed. She doubted they’d noticed.

“A Coke for the fantabulous Mr. Bruce Wayne,” Harley announced, returning to the couch and presenting the drink to Bruce, “and a Sprite for the splendiferous Mr. Harvey Dent.”

“You seem chipper today,” Bruce commented, popping the top on his soda.

 _Oh shit. He’s right. Be less damn chipper, Harley! Imagine Jay’s still out there._ She tried to muster the unease that had so easily crept into her mind when she’d known Jay was out and about. All she could see was her ex-husband’s impotent, curled-up body. It wasn’t a particularly intimidating sight.

“It’s not that I’m not scared,” she said, wording it carefully, “but… things are looking up. I’m getting better. Pam and I finally worked things out after I filed for the divorce.” _A little flattery never hurts, Harley._ “And I can’t imagine two better investigators to handle my case.” She plopped down in front of them. It was a poor idea. Her tailbone protested; sometimes, parts of her body liked to remind her of the time she’d nearly been beaten to death. It wasn’t fun, to say the least.

Bruce leaned back in the couch, sipping his pop. “Kind words, Harley. Let’s hope we live up to them.”

Harvey pulled out a notebook and a pencil. She could tell he was nervous.

“Wait a sec,” Harley said, raising a finger. “Before you start asking me questions, can you fill me in on what you’ve already found out?”

<><><>

By the time Pam came out ten minutes later, hair pulled up in a turban and (luckily) wearing an old t-shirt and shorts, Harley had told Harvey and Bruce everything they’d needed to know. And she’d confirmed that the plan had worked, too. The running assumption was that Jack had heard he was in trouble and gotten the hell out of dodge. The young woman who’d bought the car had showed up earlier today at Jack’s place, surprised to see the cabin roped off with police tape.

Pam stopped short in the doorway, then flushed, pulling the towel off of her head. Her red hair fell down past her shoulders in damp ringlets. “Harvey. Long time, no see. Can’t say the same for Bruce.” Harley could tell she was nervous; her tone was clipped, her words succinct.

“Sorry for the surprise, Red,” Harley interjected. “They were just asking if I knew where Jay might be.”

“Haven’t seen him since Fall,” Pam said. “Didn’t like him.”

“You can get dressed, Pam,” Harley said, gesturing to her shirt. “I know we weren’t expecting company.

Pam shot her a very subtly grateful look and backed out of the room.

The next time she came in, she seemed much more prepared; she’d switched out the ratty t-shirt for a loose white blouse that accentuated her curves. Harley was into it. Duh.

They’d stopped talking about Jay a while ago. Harley knew what she needed to know and she’d promised the investigators that she would tell them if she could think of any other relevant facts. It was strange – through the time they’d been talking about Jay, she realized how much of him had still been a mystery to her. She’d never met his parents, didn’t know whether he had siblings or where he’d lived before Littleton – hell, she didn’t even know what his job was.

It was a little embarrassing and, quite frankly, frightening. She wondered if this was what really _would_ have happened if he’d killed her; if he would have disappeared without a trace, leaving no connections by which to track him down. It sent a chill down her spine.

The men asked only a couple of questions of Pam. It was quite obvious she’d been too far removed from Jay to know anything about his whereabouts, and soon the conversation shifted naturally into something much more relaxing: Harvey’s work.

Harvey was detailing one of his first cases for the department. To Harley’s delight, he’d been put on the trail of Mr. Wigglebum on his first day. “Turned out it was an initiation ritual,” he said, laughing a little. “Kinda like a hazing they do for the new recruits. No one expects you to find the dog. But here’s the kicker – I _did_ find something.” He grinned, pausing for dramatic effect. “I found a torn up collar. All you could read on the tag was _Wiggle_. The rest had been chewed off.”

Pam laughed, much more loudly than the story warranted. It could have properly been called a guffaw. A stress laugh for sure. “Oh my _god_ ,” Harley interjected, leaning forward to disguise the fact that she was elbowing Pam at the same time (thank goodness, Pam shut her trap). “Has Mrs. Tompkins been informed?”

“Nah,” Harvey said. “We decided it was too cruel to tell her. Besides, that dog’s been missing for ages now. We don’t want to stir up bad memories for no reason.”

“Harley,” Bruce said, and his voice was an instant reminder of why the men had come here in the first place. Harley swallowed. “We need to get going soon. The longer he’s gone, the harder it’ll be to find him. But… I just want to prepare you.”

Harvey nodded, clasping his hands together solemnly. “If we can’t find him,” he clarified. “Since that is, unfortunately… a possibility.”

Bruce looked into Harley’s eyes. She stared back. Not a shred of what she was really feeling showed in her expression.

“Just so long as he doesn’t show up again,” Harley said, trying to look like she was really putting some thought into it, “I think… I think I can move on.”

The boys left soon after that, with an extra can of pop apiece. Harvey remembered that Sprite was always Harley’s favorite, too, and flipped her to determine who’d get the last one left in the fridge. Heads. He won and tossed the drink to Bruce as he headed for the car.

But Harvey stayed back a moment longer, giving them a gentlemanly tip of his cap. “Thank you, ladies,” he said, smiling at them. “If you hear from him, let us know.”

And then he bounded down the stairs and swung into the driver’s seat of the patrol car. He and Bruce sat there for a few seconds longer before Harvey fired up the engine. He waved to Pam and Harley as the car zipped away down the street.

Harley waited until they were well and truly out of sight before half-collapsing back into Pam. “Oh my fucking God,” she said, turning to face Pam. “That was a hell of a thing.”

“You were brilliant.” Pam worried at her lower lip. “I almost messed it up, didn’t I?”

“You did no such thing.” Harley nudged her into the house and closed the door behind her.

“I’m not particularly skilled at the lying part,” Pam said anxiously.

“Oh, I know. But you were _really_ good at the body-hiding part, and I think that sorta makes up for it.” Harley grinned at her. “Plus, I evened us out.”

Pam rolled her eyes. “Even a polygraph couldn’t catch you, Harl.”

“I’ll ignore the eye-roll and take that as a pure compliment.” Harley pressed up against Pam and hugged her. Just hugged her.

“We did it,” Pam said, hands warm against Harley’s back.

Harley’s response was quiet, but she knew Pam could hear. “It’s over.”

<><><>

As they drove back to Jay’s house to have another go at the cabin, Bruce could feel a thought nagging at him.

Sometimes it happened when he was working a case. It was like getting a feeling in his gut without actually knowing what it was telling him. Usually, if he slept on it or meditated a while, it would come to him. It was like his brain working through puzzles he wasn’t aware of until it decided he needed to know the answer.

So he was patient. He checked the house with Harvey again, all the way through the backyard (they found nothing more). He did searches into Jack Napier and found no trace of the man online, which wasn’t the most uncommon but was certainly disappointing. He checked the man’s bank account with Harvey and found, again, nothing.

Napier had disappeared off the face of the earth. No leads, no nothing.

Bruce arrived at Selina’s house that night with a bouquet of roses and a gleaming smile. He hadn’t been spending as much time with her as he would’ve liked since he got back to Littleton; there was maintenance of his estate and affairs to keep up on, plus the matter of Harley (he intended that she never see a cent of her hospital bill). And then, of course, the finding of Napier.

Something told Bruce that staying on the trail tonight wasn’t going to do anything for him. So instead, he called Selina and asked her to go out for dinner with him. “Fuck yeah,” she’d responded, “Harley and Ivy can watch the kid.”

He always found it endearing that she still referred to Maggie as “the kid,” even though her younger sister was well into her teen years.

Selina was wearing a slinky black dress he’d purchased for her on their first anniversary. It was hidden under a puffy black jacket that he was pretty sure she’d stolen from him at one point; black was his favorite color just as much as it was hers, ironically.

Bruce wasn’t the type for regrets, but if he could change one thing in his life, he’d probably have asked her out at the beginning of high school instead of waiting ‘til near the end. And even then, _he_ hadn’t technically done the asking. That had been Selina, all the way.

He was so, so glad.

She looked stunning. He looped his arms around her waist as she met him at the bottom of the stairs and kissed her, slow and deep.

“Mmm,” she purred, “we haven’t done this in too long.”

“The date night or the kissing?”

“Both.” She laughed. “Don’t you know they’re a match set, pretty boy?”

<><><>

Selina slept over at his house that night. She tended to curl into a ball while she slept; he liked that she did. They didn’t usually press up against each other when they were asleep, so when he woke they weren’t touching. Still, he could feel the weight of her, feel how it made the mattress bow ever so slightly in her direction.

Bruce took a deep breath, and the puzzle piece clicked into place.

When he’d visited Harley in the hospital – and he had done so frequently after she’d begun to heal in earnest, even if he’d thought it wasn’t his place to force Pam or Selina out when Harley was in intensive care – she had been wearing no jewelry. That was natural for a hospital visit, of course. And when he and Harvey had been talking with her in Selina’s TV room, her hands were bare; he remembered her gesticulations as they conversed. Nothing had sparkled in the light.

But when she’d met them at the door… she’d been wearing a wedding ring.

Why would she have taken it off?

This time, he didn’t really need to give his subconscious time to process it. He already had a nagging suspicion of a few of the reasons. None of them cast her in a particularly flattering light.

And… he could work the rest of the way through that particular riddle. He certainly could. He could keep poking his nose into this affair to find the law’s justice. He could get up right now and grill Harley until she told him everything she knew, _really_ told him. He could ask Pam why she’d been so anxious when Bruce and Harvey had come to the house.

Bruce didn’t move. He looked at Selina’s back where she was curled up across the bed from him. He thought of how terrible Harley had looked in the hospital, how awful Pam had seemed in the same situation, recovering from her own trauma.

Bruce believed in justice. He rolled back over in bed and closed his eyes, ready to go back to sleep.

Because he suspected justice had already been done.

<><><>

As it turned out, Jack Napier was a missing person who nobody missed at all.

When his case went cold, nobody cared. Bruce tried to cushion Harvey’s disappointment at what Harvey considered a personal failure. It helped that Harley was so magnanimous about it. She’d been meeting Harvey, Bruce, and Selina once a week for poker night recently, and while she verbally stated that she bore no ill will towards Harvey, Bruce thought her actions spoke louder than her words. She harbored no resentment towards Harvey, and you could tell.

Pam only dropped in on the poker night once. She inexplicably swept the floor with the rest of them, despite claiming to the moment she took Bruce’s entire chip pile on an all-in he’d been sure he would win that she had no idea how to play the game. She declared that it was rather boring and didn’t return for a second attempt, though she sometimes came out to sit and watch them. He was silently grateful.

Nothing about how she and Harley were acting gave him cause to regret his decision to let sleeping dogs lie.

Nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's all fluff from here on out :)


	23. Seasonal Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy some domestic fluffery and a unique proposal ;)

A short while after they’d successfully gotten away with murder, Harley woke to an empty bed.

This was unfortunate in large part because one of her favorite things to do in the morning was smile at Pam’s bedhead. Harley almost invariably woke before Pam. It was just how things were.

Except for, apparently, today.

She found Pam outside, sitting in the frozen dirt and practicing her plant mojo. She was doing some of the dexterity exercises she and Harley had developed just last week, morphing a plant stem into the rough shape of a hand and trying to pick things up with it.

Harley didn’t break Pam’s concentration. She just perched on the top stair and set her chin on her palms, watching. She hadn’t seen Pam go full glowing-green goddess since Jay had gone six feet under, but if Harley watched carefully and it wasn’t too bright out, she could still see a dim glow leaking through the top of Pam’s collar.

Sometimes Harley wondered if the luminescence started from Pam’s heart. Someday, she decided, she would find out.

After a while of trying and failing to pick up a stick, Pam sighed and let the plant slither back into the ground. She sat back on her heels, glancing at Harley. “Hey,” she said.

“Hey.” Something was wrong. Harley would’ve known that even when she and Pam were just friends and nothing more. All she needed was the interruption of Pam’s daily routine, the hunched set to her shoulders, the avoidance of eye contact, to know there was an issue. So she offered what she and Pam had always done when they needed to talk things out, even back then. “Want to go for a walk?”

They were quiet in the car as Pam drove them out towards Wayne Lake. Harley watched her surreptitiously for any indication of why she was acting… well, like she was acting. Tense. Anxious.  
  
Pam hadn’t had any flashbacks that Harley could pinpoint since the needle had triggered her in the hospital, before Jay had even died. That wasn’t out of the question, though; something PTSD-related was definitely a possibility. Harley herself had noticed that she’d been feeling anxious for what she thought was no reason recently, until she’d determined that her heart rate spiked every time she heard someone slam a door.

Just one mention to Maggie and Maggie had stopped doing it. Easy peasy. Harley wished everyone in the world was so accommodating.

They parked the car a little way down the road and got out to walk towards the lake. Harley was bundled up – it was still winter, after all – and Pam was wearing a pair of earmuffs that were just unreasonably adorable.

Harley looked out across the water. Sometimes, Canada geese gathered around the lake in the spring, honking their heads off. Once, one of them had even charged at Pam. She’d shrieked and bolted; Harley had hardly been able to keep up, which was funny because _she_ was the more athletic of the two of them.

“So,” Harley said, breaking the silence, “what’s up?”

She reached for Pam’s hand. Pam pulled away.

 _Hmm,_ Harley thought, _not fun. Do not like_.

“We need to talk.”

“There’s a reason we’re walking, Red. Hit me with it.” Harley was getting nervous now.

Pam sighed, tipping back her head. She blew out a puff of white, frosty breath. “I need to know what’s going to happen. With us.”

“With us.” Harley still wasn’t following.

Pam nodded, sniffing. “Yeah. I mean, I was thinking, and… I realized we may not have the same expectations about this relationship.” She still wasn’t looking at Harley.

 _Oh, fuck. Oh fucking HELL._ This sounded like the start of a breakup speech. Just the thought of it made something black and slimy coil up in the pit of Harley’s stomach. Maybe it was university; maybe Pam had decided to go back. Or maybe it was something worse. Maybe… maybe Pam had realized she just didn’t love Harley.

 _No jumping to conclusions, Harley._ She cleared her throat. “How so?”

Finally – _finally –_ Pam shot a glance Harley’s way. “I realized,” she said, “that we never really defined what we wanted this to be. I…” she faltered. “You’re the first girl I’ve ever kissed, Harl.”

“Now _that_ is blatantly false,” Harley interrupted. “You remember spin-the-bottle as well as I do.”

Pam looked absolutely miserable. Harley felt instantly terrible. She hadn’t meant to be flippant; she’d thought it was funny. “That didn’t _mean_ anything,” Pam said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Didn’t _look_ like it meant nothing,” Harley said. _Foot-in-mouth syndrome is real, and I suffer from it_ , she thought. It was like she couldn’t stop herself, no matter how much she wanted to.

“This is getting all mixed-up,” Pam said, her pace picking up. Harley matched her stride, still not sure exactly what was wrong – except it seemed like things weren’t turning out her way, which she was not a fan of. And then Pam stopped. Like at one moment her feelings wouldn’t let her keep still while at the next they brought her to a halt. “I just… Harley, I realized what this could mean. And I don’t want to be your rebound.”

“Holy fucking shit.” Harley had not expected those words to come out of her mouth, to be out loud at all, and she kinda surprised herself. Pam looked a little taken aback. “You think you’re my _rebound?_ ”

Pam shrank. “Well, we do a lot of kissing, and don’t get me wrong, I love the kissing, but… I don’t know. We’ve never really talked about the future and I don’t know if this is just… passion from your perspective. Without the feelings.” Pam took a deep breath and met Harley’s eyes. “And I’m not sure that’s going to work out, Harley, because… I’m in love with you.”

“Well, fuck,” Harley said, “I love you too, Red.”

Pam shook her head. “That’s not the same thing. We’ve loved each other since we met, practically. But Harley… I am _in love_ with you. I would kill for you – which you know, of course. I would _die_ for you. _In love_. Because the love is so deep and all-consuming I could never get out of it.”

Harley’s breath caught.

“And,” Pam finished, looking away once more, “I can’t tell if it’s the same for you.”

Harley reached for Pam’s hands. Pam let her take them. “Red,” Harley said, entirely solemnly, “I don’t know where the message got lost, but I have been fucking crazy about you since, like _ever._ I thought my top was gonna blow when you kissed Selina, I was so jealous. I’ve known I was bi since I saw you in your first bikini and I wrote you off as my unrequited teen crush because if I had told you how I felt and you’d cut me off, I would have _never_ fucking forgiven myself.”

Pam’s gaze drifted up to Harley’s. Harley didn’t stop. If this was all about a lack of communication, by God, she was going to communicate.

“I dreamed about you before I got married, and I dreamed about you during. Which, by the way, was sometimes annoying as hell, given that I was _trying_ to be a good wife and you kept getting in the way. Not that I blame you. My subconscious was probably doing its best to warn me.

“ _Anyway_. To get to the fucking _point_ , Red. Being with you is so fucking _unbelievably good_ that I never want to stop doing it. I would follow you to the ends of the earth. You mean more to me than anything. Than everything.”

_More to me than the world._

“And I am _so fucking in love with you_ part of me almost wants to laugh at the fact that a thought that I am _not_ has ever had the _gall_ to cross your brilliant mind.”

Harley took a deep breath.

Oh, God, Pam had cried. Just a little bit. A single tear, tracking down her cheek. But she was also smiling wetly at Harley, so Harley felt like she kinda must’ve done something right? “Are you done, daisy?”

“No,” she said, leaning closer to Pam. “I love… I am _in love_ with how you smell like home. I am _in love_ with the way you bite your fingernails when you’re getting nervous even though it’s a bad habit and you hate that you do it. I am _in love_ with the fact that every time I kiss you, you look at me the same way I look at you, which is to say fuck maps, you want to be lost in me forever. I am in love with your eyes, I am in love with that smile you get when you start talking science even if I can’t understand anything you’re saying, I am in love with your soul.

“In short, Pamela Lillian Isley, I am in love with _you_ , and if anything I’ve done has convinced you otherwise I would hope that you would tell me so I could _stop fucking doing it.”_

Pam was not crying. Not at all.

She was beaming.

She leaned forward and kissed Harley, hands going to Harley’s chin as she cupped it. Harley kissed her back like a wildfire.

“Harley,” Pam said, drawing back breathlessly, “marry me.”

Harley still had some of the old gymnast’s strength in her. She put it to good use; she picked up Pam by the waist and spun her around. Pam gave a delighted laugh as Harley put her back down.

“You know what?” Harley said, leaning in so close their noses were almost touching. “I think I’m in love with the idea of saying yes.”

<><><>

Pam wanted a summer wedding.

This was difficult for Harley. Mostly due to the fact that she didn’t like waiting for anything, ever, much less things that she cared so much about. Unfortunately, because _Pam_ was the thing Harley cared so much about, Pam’s preferences took precedence in this case.

They moved out of Selina’s house just as spring was beginning (“took you long enough,” was Selina’s only comment, but she didn’t seem to have actually minded.) They didn’t buy an actual property; they were still figuring out where they wanted to put down their roots, so to speak, so instead Pam asked Bruce if they could settle down in a forested portion of his vast acreage, just until they decided where they’d go next. He had obliged.

They’d asked him about it weeks before they moved out. The extra time was used up when they went out to the woods together to work on their new residence. Pam was getting stronger each day; it was easier for her to manipulate the plants, now, and she didn’t find it as difficult to return to lucidity after she’d immersed herself in the world of, as she called it, “the Green.” She made an offhand comment when she was constructing their temporary living room out of a few trees, bending towards each other at her behest, that she could’ve hidden Jay’s body now without breaking a sweat.

“It’s all about practice,” Pam said, moving her arms in complicated twists as she wove together plant life into the walls of their new abode. “There. Does that look good?”

Harley was looking at Pam, so of course she said “yes.” But when she glanced at the structure Pam had been building, she found nothing at fault with it. They hadn’t finished up the insides yet, but it was magnificent. The entire thing constructed out of living wood.

They’d had a breakthrough when they found out Pam could quite easily make seeds from the local Home Depot sprout, even in the middle of winter. Harley had bought a dozen packets of strawberry seeds, and they’d had fresh fruit during dinner _and_ strawberry shortcake for dessert that night at Selina’s.

Selina knew about Pam’s developing powers by now, and she’d commented on the perks of having a metahuman houseguest before going out the next day to buy cherry tomato seeds (“I miss them!” she’d defended herself when Pam had protested amiably to being used like a food processor).

Once they’d moved into the little outdoorsy place – with a few human installations added to improve the comfort of it all – Pam had started up on a new goal: regulating her skin tone.

They’d already found that she got greener the more she stayed in the sun. And, apart from that, they’d discovered that she couldn’t be in the dark for too long. She started getting the symptoms of a cold when she wasn’t exposed to enough natural light. “Just like a plant,” Harley teased. “You eat the sun.”

Pam started in on a rant of why plants didn’t technically “eat” the sun, which was precisely what Harley had been aiming for. She did it just to see that science-genius smile.

<><><>

As spring shifted into summer, Pam took Harley back to the woods behind Jay’s cabin. All she said to preface the trip was, “I want to show you something.”

They didn’t talk while they slipped through the woods, quiet as a pair of ghosts embarrassed to be caught out in the daytime. Pam just led Harley back to that clearing. The same one they’d stumbled to a halt in on that night, which by now felt like eons ago.

Except that it wasn’t a clearing any longer. A young sapling had sprung up. It stood in the exact same place Harley had seen the last trace of Jay disappear.

Without comment, Pam flicked her middle finger; the tree shot up, its trunk expanding and branches reaching out eagerly in a matter of moments.

“Well,” Harley said, twining her fingers with Pam’s, “that’s the only good thing that ever came of the bastard.”

<><><>

Once, when they were in the middle of a fairly intense make-out session, Harley cupped a hand around Pam’s neck as she kissed her.

Pam stopped breathing. She drew back and curled up without a word.

It was that night that Harley discovered the second of Pam’s triggers. When Pam was settled down enough, she told Harley about the way she’d been secured to the dentist’s chair in Woodrue’s cellar. About the outline of the strap around her neck, impressed in her skin, that they’d taken pictures of in the hospital when she’d first been wheeled in. Lines scored into her, marks to remind her of where she’d yanked and pulled and tried to get free.

Harley made a mental note not to touch Pam’s neck that way ever again – not unless Pam decided someday that she wanted to work through it. For now, it was off-limits, and Harley completely understood.

Kisses on her neck didn’t bother Pam, though, so Harley went all in with that one.

<><><>

It was a wonderful spring. Harley discovered more about Pam than she’d ever thought to consider. This was impressive, since Harley had thought that she knew Pam like the back of her own hand all the way through high school. As it turned out, there were infinitely more things to learn. Harley aspired to be a Pam expert.

Pam got her back into gymnastics. It wasn’t too subtle; mostly gymnast magazines lying around and Pam’s pointed glances when Harley looked at them. She knew she was too old for all of it, but her coach still worked at the Foxville gym – Luke Fox, actually, a son descended from the family the town had been named after. He’d been carving out his own niche as a part-time coach ever since he got a career-ending injury in his second Olympics. He welcomed Harley back without hesitation.

Harley had forgotten how much she loved it. She remembered the moment her feet touched the beam again, the wash of sheer joy that had radiated through her as she stood tall and took her first step, toe pointed. The beam had always been her forte. Finding the perfect balance.

Pam watched her during most of her practices. Harley wasn’t sure if that made her better, since she spent her sessions showing off, or worse, because Pam was so damn distracting.

Harley caught Pam smiling once when she overbalanced and fell off the beam – she didn’t hurt herself, but she _did_ look like a fool – and sent the finger Pam’s way.

 _Fuck_ , she thought, as Pam rolled her eyes back, _I can’t wait for summer_.

<><><>

Near the beginning of May, Harley woke up to a low growl. At first, she thought it might be a wolf come to their lowly abode to snack on a nice, juicy Harley. (As Pam would taste bitter and toxic, Harley imagined she would be left alone to mourn the loss of her beloved. It was a rather dramatic prophecy.)

It was not a wolf. It was an extremely mangy, flea-ridden terrier with one ear half bitten off and a crazed look in its eye. Even without its collar, Harley recognized the dog immediately.

“No fucking way,” she said, “it’s _Mr. Wigglebum.”_

She and Pam laughed so hard Harley’s stomach was hurting by the end of it.

<><><>

“I can’t believe it.”

“I know!”

“How could we be so goddamn _stupid,_ Red?”

“I couldn’t tell you, petal.”

They only realized after a tall blonde hit on Pam while she and Harley were walking the streets of Foxville that they hadn’t gotten engagement rings. To be honest, Harley wasn’t entirely disappointed; it was kinda worth it to see Pam flush bright red at the blonde’s advances once she realized what was happening. “Take it as a compliment,” Harley said, nudging her playfully, “you’re finally giving off the gay vibes you so rightfully deserve.”

Harley’s engagement ring was a tiny, living masterpiece, dotted with flowers that Pam had somehow made so tiny they looked like a little rainbow of gems.

Harley gave Pam a ring pop and laughed her head off about it. Then she gave Pam the real thing – a thin band of gold with an oval of amber suspended in it. Pam never took it off.

<><><>

_Jesus_ _Christ,_ Harley thought, straddling Pam from behind as she sat on a stool and braided her hair. (Harley still couldn’t get over how _red_ it was. She might never get over that, and that was okay!) _If we don’t get married soon, I’m gonna lose it._

The next day, Pam proposed a date. “June 18th,” she said in the middle of breakfast. “How’s that sound?”

Harley tried to keep her heart from galloping out from between her ribs. “Why then?”

“We had our in-love-with-you talk on January 18th, which makes it sentimentally good for me,” Pam said, not looking up from her fruit salad, “and June 18th is earlier than July 18th, which makes it good for you.” She raised an eyebrow.

Okay, so, yeah, Harley may have mentioned once or twice or a million gazillion times that she was getting a little impatient here. You couldn’t blame a girl for feeling how she was going to feel.

If the complaining had gotten her the wedding a month earlier, it was entirely worth it.

Harley grinned. “I’ll start making the invitations. Please come to watch Harleen Frances Quinzel and Pamela Lillian Isley tie the knot. There will be alcohol. Also kissing. And the rabbi shall tell jokes.”

Pam beamed at her. “Since I haven’t said it yet today,” she said, “don’t forget I love you.”

“You’re _in love_ with me,” Harley said, beaming back. “There’s a difference.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe there are only two chapters left. Whoa. Thanks to all y'all who've stuck with it thus far :)


	24. A Better Wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The penultimate chapter... I can't believe there's only one more 😩

Harley didn’t really come out to her parents so much as inform them of a fact they seemed to already know.

There wasn’t even a discussion of it, really; they showed up on the day before her wedding, piling out of a van that was almost certainly too small for all her siblings, and had wrapped her in what felt like dozens of crushing hugs before the engine had even cooled.

They knew about the situation with her and Jay, of course. While they’d been comforting, their parenting had shifted to a much more hands-off approach as she’d grown up. She had appreciated it immensely, and she thought their tact in Jay’s case was enviable. Her Pops didn’t even mention Jay, and her Ma only brought him up once – when she noted surreptitiously that while she understood Harley’s decision to marry him, she thought Pam “would be a better fit.”

The Quinzels had always liked Pam. Since she’d only had her own parents to compare them to, it made sense that Pam positively adored the Quinzels in turn.

Aside from Harley’s parents, blood family was few and far between. Harley had sent anti-invitations to Pam’s parents. They were formally crafted and painstakingly worded, but basically came out to a “fuck you, I’m marrying your daughter, and if you show up I’ll assume you’re each consenting to a punch in the nose.”

Pam had not given her explicit consent to send the letters, but she also hadn’t resisted. Especially after Harley did practically a whole comedy skit built around parodying what she thought Paul and Lillian’s faces might look like when they opened the letter.

Pam _had_ invited a distant cousin – several times removed, Harley thought – named Alec Holland. He was a scrawny, tiny kid who barely looked twelve but claimed proudly to be fourteen. “I always looked after him at family functions,” Pam explained. “We’d play hide-and-seek and stuff. My parents liked me to keep him entertained so neither of us would bother the adults during wine hour.”

She’d invited his father, too – her uncle – but he had politely declined.

So it was just the Quinzels and little Alec Holland for relatives. But it was _Littleton_. Family wasn’t the only family to be had, not when Harley and Pam had grown up with the same kids in the same classes for years and years.

They were having a bit of a mish-mash of what Harley wanted to call a “contemporary Jewish marriage” – the Quinzels were by no means Orthodox, but they’d kept most of the primary elements of a Jewish wedding for generations. Pam didn’t really have a specific religion; she was more than happy to let Harley make the plans for the _chuppah_ and the glass they would break at the end of the ceremony.

Bruce, Selina, Harvey, and a few more of their old friends – like Victor Fries and his wife Nora – were invited, but they kept the ceremony small apart from that. It was less that they didn’t want a big wedding and more that they didn’t have any more easily accessible friends to call upon for it. It could’ve been depressing, except for the fact that Harley spent the day before the wedding solely wrapped up in giddy awareness that it was _happening_ , and it was happening _tomorrow_.

She’d debated between a dress and a suit for a solid few seconds before remembering that she’d never been the dress type. Just before the wedding, Maggie helped to get her decked out in her tuxedo. Maggie did her hair, too, deft fingers working through the wavy blonde strands until they were neatly contained in two long ponytails that had no business looking as formal as they did.

Harley’s Ma worried over the tux and how it lay on Harley’s hips for a few minutes before finally drawing back. “Looks sharp, baby girl,” she said with a firm little nod, and that was how Harley knew she looked fabulous.

The wedding was set to be outside on the Wayne estate, on one of the carefully curated lawns of grass that Bruce was slowly transitioning into havens for native plants. The _chuppah_ , as per Harley’s instructions, was elevated by the trunks of thin saplings Pam had grown for the occasion, with simple white cloth draped over the top of them. Under the open sky.

Pam had grown seats out of the ground for their guests, too. They were going to have a 100% organic, vegan-friendly wedding – at least when it came to the decorations.

Harley had only complained a little that Selina had been claimed to help Pam get ready. She didn’t really mind, but it _did_ seem somewhat unfair, since they all knew Pam was going to look stunning no matter what.

When Harley saw her, she nearly stopped breathing.

Pam was wearing a positively _magnificent_ dress. Pure white, it swooped low to the ground and gave the impression it was light as air, the top layers drifting about in the wind.

But the best part was that Pam had obviously altered it herself. The top hugged her shoulders in a lattice of delicate vines twining over her shoulders and down her arms, tiny white flowers dotting the plants. Her hair was loose, with the same flowers nestled in it; a larger flower crown of living white blossoms encircled her head like the halo of a goddess.

Pam flushed when she saw Harley. She’d altered her skin color, changing it more towards her natural tint than the usual green, but when she saw Harley she seemed to lose control of it a little; her coloring drifted back towards a deep evergreen before she got it under wraps.

In love? No way, baby, she wasn’t just standing there in love. Harley was drowning in love. She was dying in love, too, because she was pretty sure her heart stopped as soon as she got a good look at Pam, looking so radiant, donned in a tradition she’d made her own.

No one could take this away from them. No one could even try.

<><><>

After the ceremony, Harley couldn’t stop twisting the simple gold band on her ring finger. Just thinking about it made her giddy. She and Pam retreated to a small room in Bruce’s house for just a quarter hour for their _yichud_.

Out of all the traditions, this was by far Harley’s favorite. Fifteen minutes of privacy, of togetherness, in the aftermath of the official act. They were _married_.

“What do you want to do with your life, Harley?”

They were lying on the floor, facing in entirely opposite directions to give the skirt of Pam’s dress room to spread. Their heads were next to each other, though – they were both studying the ceiling, which, as with most features of Bruce’s house, was ornate, beautiful, and probably worth thousands.

“I wanna be with you. Hey, I just had a thought. You’re a redhead and now you’re a _wed-_ head. A wedded redhead. That worked better in my head.”

“I know it did, daffodil. But I’m serious.” Pam turned her head towards Harley’s so they were looking at each other upside down. “I think I’m going to finish my degree.”

This was unsurprising. And… it didn’t make Harley worry so much anymore. “We’ve been separated before,” she pointed out, “and that’s never stopped us. Besides, lest you forget, we are _married_. M-A-R-I-E-D.”

“I think you forgot an “R” there, petal.”

“It’s ‘cause you took it,” Harley defended herself. “Because you “R” the only one I love.”

Pam laughed. “The jokes really aren’t working for you right now, Harls.”

“Not my fault. My _brain’s_ not working. All the blood is elsewhere.”

Pam tilted her chin up and they kissed each other, there on the floor of Bruce Wayne’s mansion. It was their first ever upside-down kiss. Harley thought they should start doing it more; it situated her perfectly for forehead kisses. Plus the feel of Pam’s lips was different from this angle. Still wonderful, but in a novel way.

They didn’t talk for the rest of _yichud_. Just traded languid, married-couple kisses until it was time to go back out to the guests for dances and food.

<><><>

After the wedding was over and the conversation had lulled and the hugs and well-wishes had been exchanged, Pam took Harley to the car and asked her to hold still. “And close your eyes,” Pam added with a wink.

Harley closed her eyes. There was no way she wouldn’t with Pam giving her _that_ kind of a look.

She felt Pam’s hands pulling her hair back gently so it lay against her back instead of over her shoulders. Pam’s fingers brushed her lashes. “Are you peeking?”

“Nuh uh. Scout’s honor.”

“Mmm,” Pam murmured, and Harley felt a silky-smooth cloth come to rest over her eyelids.

“A _blindfold?_ Tell me we’re not consummating our marriage in a parking lot, Pam. That seems too kinky for—”

Pam’s lips pressed up against Harley’s. With the blindfold secured snugly over Harley’s eyes, there was no warning; one minute she was talking and the next Pam’s mouth was on hers. The only issue with this was that Harley had no time to prepare.

Pam seemed to be taking advantage of that fact. She pulled back and left Harley gaping. “C’mon, petal,” she said. Harley could hear the car door opening, and she let Pam guide her into the seat. Pam clicked the seatbelt in, brushing Harley’s chest with her arm as she reached across Harley’s lap to do it.

 _God_ , she would never stop being amazing. Had Harley ever considered Jay sexy for the way he clicked in a seatbelt? No sirree.

Her sight gone, Harley was intent on getting as much information as she could from her other senses. The car felt like it usually did, with its smooth cloth seats and the smell of old Cheetos in the air. (Harley would own up to the fact that that scent was entirely her fault. Pam was _still_ on her case for getting one of the seats covered in orange dust a few weeks back.)

She heard Pam’s door open as Pam slid into her seat. The car’s engine rumbled to life, and they were off.

Harley had intended to keep track of where they were headed by which way the car turned. She was flummoxed more quickly than she’d expected; as soon as they made their first turn, she realized she didn’t know which direction they’d left the parking lot from. It was downhill from there.

She knew Pam was playing with her, because they drove a winding route that most definitely covered more ground than all of Littleton had to offer. This meant that Pam was backtracking, of course.

What could the surprise be? A horse? No, not a horse, Harley didn’t know why that thought had come to her mind – she hadn’t even _asked_ for a horse, why would Pam buy her one? Okay, then, so maybe… a nice restaurant? But they’d just eaten, and besides that, they were still all done up in their finest. They would look silly eating out at what passed for the best restaurants in Littleton in their wedding clothes.

An image came to Harley of Pam with her voluminous white skirts jammed into a booth at _La Bella Burrito_. If she got out of that experience without staining the dress, Harley would’ve been amazed.

Of course they wouldn’t go there, though. That was out of the question.

So… what was it?

As if in response to Harley’s thoughts, the car slowed to a halt. Pam turned it off and got out on her side. Within moments, she was leading Harley out of the passenger’s seat. “Watch the curb,” she warned, and Harley avoided making a smart comment about how that was literally impossible for her at the moment. Instead, she followed Pam’s lead. “Stay still.” Pam adjusted Harley’s position, her hands on Harley’s shoulder, and then _finally_ said “okay.”

Harley reached up and pulled off her blindfold.

“Oh my God,” she said, “it’s a sidewalk.”

Pam laughed. “Daffodil, look up.”

Harley, who had of course only been kidding, looked up.

It was a house. A tiny little house – a first home. It was painted a mint green that could’ve looked tacky; instead, it gave the entire structure an air of youthful optimism. Harley wouldn’t have thought just a well-chosen paint color could do that.

The front yard was bursting with life – fruits and vegetables practically spilled out of the ground. An apple tree stood to the left of the house, its limbs already heavy with fruit. Butterflies flitted from flower to flower; Harley saw a ladybug amble across the path in front of them. The whole thing stank of Pam.

“Is it…”

“Ours,” Pam confirmed, and Harley realized her hands had gone up to cover her mouth.

“How did you pay for it?”

Pam shrugged. “I sold my strawberries in the winter. More than that, too – all sorts of fruits and vegetables. I made a good deal with the local grocery, and they bought all the fresh produce off of me. It all went here. The mortgage isn’t paid off, but I made the down payment, and…” Pam glanced at Harley anxiously. “Do you like it?”

It was at once both endearing and annoying that Pam worried so much. Harley reached out and grabbed her hand. “Fuck, Pam, I _love_ it.”

Pam smiled and tilted her head, looking up at the little house. “I thought you might. Oh, and I figured we owed it to Bruce to get out of his backyard.”

“So,” Harley said, trying to sound coy (she was pretty sure she failed but it was the thought that counted) “did it come furnished?”

<><><>

Sure, they’d fooled around before getting married – Harley had no qualms about that – but despite how hard Pam had tried to wiggle out from underneath her parents’ thumbs, she couldn’t help her upbringing. And while she’d paved her own way when it came to who she fell in love with, she’d still told Harley it would be more comfortable for her to wait until after marriage for all of the… _consummatin’_ parts of the relationship.

“I’m fully in support of people who have sex outside of marriage,” Pam had said, “but it just doesn’t feel right for _me_.”

Harley hadn’t pushed it. She loved Pam for Pam, not for Pam in the bedroom.

So “fooling around” had primarily constituted lots of kissing and hands up shirts and fingers tracing patterns on each other’s bare backs, but not much further. Even when they got close, Harley stroking the insides of Pam’s thighs or a little higher, they’d just never gone all the way.

Harley would’ve wanted to be with Pam no matter the nature of their physical relationship, she thought, but also… she’d been looking forward to the honeymoon.

Pam took the first steps, her hand on Harley’s as she led her into the house. Harley let Pam give her the full tour. It was agonizingly slow; Pam seemed to be taking her time guiding Harley through the small kitchen and guest bedroom and living room and finally into the master bedroom.

It smelled sweet already, like apple blossoms and fresh grass. The bed was a king size and made neatly, its sheets patterned in leaves. Pam sat down on the edge of the bed, spreading her skirts out around her nervously.

“Pam-a-lamb, you okay?”

Pam nodded. “Mmm. I just… yeah.”

Harley noticed a stool in the corner of the room. She tugged it out in front of Pam and plopped down on it. “You know we can wait if you’re not ready.” _No pressure, Red. I love you_.

Pam looked up at her, a flush spreading across her cheeks. The green was coming back to her skin; she’d stopped concentrating on it. Which was often a sign that her mind was on other things. “No,” she said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, “I’m ready.” She took a deep breath and placed her hands on the bedspread, then gave Harley a smile one part nervous and one part eager. “Show me, please?”

“Okay,” Harley said.

They started slow. Harley found herself leaning towards Pam on the bed – since Pam was sitting, the height difference was fairly major – and kissed her. She moved to straddle Pam’s hips, on her knees so one was planted on either side of Pam. Pam tilted her head further up to accommodate it, her hair cascading down her back in a waterfall that Harley buried her fingers in it, cupping Pam’s head and tracing patterns on her scalp.

Pam’s hands went to Harley’s tux jacket, unbuttoning it in the front. Harley slipped out of it; she was left in her white blouse, black bow tie, and dress pants.

She eased the vine lattice off of Pam’s shoulders. It seemed to be pliant to her touch as she slipped it off. Her fingers found the laces at the back of Pam’s bodice and began to undo them, slowly, lazily. Still kissing Pam as she did it.

 _Trust._ That was what this was. _Trust_.

The funniest part about the night, Harley thought, was that the last piece of clothing to come off between the two of them was the bow tie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note -- I'm open to concrit from any Jewish readers on the Jewish aspects of this chapter/the fic. I want to make sure I'm doing right by Harley's background and not perpetuating anything I'm not aware of, so please, if there's something I should change, let me know! And thanks to you all for your hits, kudos, and comments, as always!


	25. Epilogue (The Stand)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The laaaaaast chapter...

Pam ended up finishing most of her school online; those courses that she couldn’t complete that way, she took at a more local college. Harley encouraged her to expand her horizons. Pam said that horizons could wait until grad school; for now, Harley was her sun and all the horizon Pam wanted was right here at home.

Harley was there the day of Pam’s college graduation. Pam tossed her cap in the air with a little whoop and Harley caught it. Selina snapped a picture that actually came out well when they looked at it later; Harley holding the graduation cap like a screen as she kissed Pam behind it. All you could see was Pam’s hair and Harley’s. It was pretty romantic.

They were leaning against each other on the couch, immersed in their own little worlds (Pam was reading a science magazine – Harley couldn’t see the appeal), when Harley brought it up.

“Hey, Red.”

“Hey, petal,” Pam said, setting down her reading in her lap with a finger wedged in the pages so she could remember where she’d stopped. Harley liked that; the immediate gift of Pam’s attention. As if everything Harley had to say was of utmost importance.

Not that it _wasn’t_ , of course, but it was just nice of Pam to acknowledge that.

“I was looking through some real estate,” Harley continued, “just… thinking of leaving Littleton. It’s starting to feel too…”

“Too small for you,” Pam finished for her. Harley nodded. “That’s how I felt when I went off to college,” Pam said, relaxing on the couch and draping an arm over the back of it. “There are so many reminders here.”

Reminders of Pam’s parents. Reminders of Jay. Reminders, reminders, everywhere. Maybe it’d be easier if Harley had amnesia, but she was feeling it, too. She never went to the part of town that hosted Jay’s neighborhood anymore, and her parents still lived elsewhere, so really… Pam was the only thing tying her to Littleton. Funny, because _she_ was the only thing tying _Pam_ to Littleton, too.

“Anywho,” Harley said, “what would you think about a shop?”

Pam raised an eyebrow. “A shop?”

“Yeah,” Harley said, getting a little nervous. “Like… well, I found a plot of land plus this quaint little roadside stand, out on Highway 109. I was thinking we could… make a home out there. You know? Just the two of us. Make something special out of that stand.”

“I think I like that idea,” Pam said, pressing a soft kiss to Harley’s knuckles. “I think I like that idea very much.”

<><><>

The stand was more than a stand – it had a small living space in the back. The whole structure was falling apart, but that was part of the appeal. It had been cheap as hell, what with its location in the middle of nowhere and the dismal condition of the place.

Pam wore overalls and a colorful kerchief to tie back her hair while they fixed up the place, which was frankly unfair. Harley, in an attempt to even the scales, spent the first day wearing a crop top and short-shorts. She didn’t think she was having an effect until the sun was setting and Pam was on her like a shark on a chum bucket.

No… that wasn’t the right analogy. The intensity was there, sure, but sharks and everything seemed too… violent. More like a woman who’d just been stabbed with about fifty of cupid’s arrows.

Harley would’ve worn the same outfit for the next hundred days except for the unfortunate fact that she got so damn sunburned in it. Even when she slathered her arms and legs in sunscreen, she was absolutely roasted by the end of the day unless she wore long sleeves and pants. Pam started wearing sunhats, too, which was just entirely unbearable. Harley should’ve had an abundance of patience by now, what with Pam’s penchant for the power of waiting, but really she just felt like the more she had to wait the hungrier she got.

Okay, so maybe that was the point. Didn’t mean she had to like it.

They painted the place a pretty off-white color, leaving the trim a rustic brown. The inside of the stand was the worst part because it was so damn hot; Harley complained that it was because there wasn’t any shade out here by the highway.

“I’m an idiot,” Pam proclaimed, and left immediately. Harley assumed she knew what she was doing and continued to scrub the floor; it had been buried under layers of dust when they’d bought the place, but she was discovering some beautiful bona fide hardwood beneath the grime, and it put a smile on her face to see the patches of clean wood spread as she cleaned.

Pam was back within the hour with… sprigs.

“Good timing,” Harley said, “I needed a break.” She could tell some serious plant magic was about to happen, and she never liked to miss that if she could help it.

Pam was wearing a plaid button-down shirt today. She distributed the sprigs around the structure and stepped back, raising her arms.

“Wait a sec,” Harley said, holding up a finger. She came around Pam’s side and started unbuttoning down the front of the shirt.

“Wha—”

“Just wait,” Harley said, finishing up and pushing the shirt to the side. Pam was blushing; her bra today was a floral print and very cute. It attached in the front. Harley eschewed all temptation and stepped back. “Scientific observation,” she said. “Okay, go.”

The sprigs extended roots into the ground and branches towards the sky. Harley watched Pam’s heart.

Sure enough, that was where the green glow started – at first, it wasn’t obvious, since the sun was still beating down on them, but as the trees Pam was growing began to shade them from the sun, Harley could clearly see the green glow, evident as it illuminated tracks of Pam’s lifeblood amidst the dappled shadows and highlights on her skin.

“Legit,” Harley said, stepping closer and lightly brushing her fingers on the skin above Pam’s heart. She tapped the spot. “It comes from here.”

And then, because they were blocked from the highway by both the stand and a brand-new grove of trees, she gave into temptation, after all.

<><><>

If you ever find yourself driving out on Highway 109, you may be surprised to see a grove of trees rising up in the distance. It is an oasis of sorts. Anybody who’s anybody stops there when they near it; only those who don’t understand the value of a little magic in our big world keep driving without a second glance.

The grove of trees, as you near it, will reveal a sign posted to one of the biggest trunks announcing that you are approaching “The Stand.” It is simple and to the point, with clean letters and straight edges. Underneath that, it will appear that someone other than the maker of the first sign co-opted the tree; several boards hang haphazardly, reminding the customer that the place also hosts “out of season fruits!!” “Super Good Booze,” and “LOVE. And also HONEY.”

As you flick on your turn signal and pull into the parking lot, you will notice that it is already almost full. You will see that it has already been expanded once to accommodate increased traffic. As you roll down your windows and relax in the cool shade of the trees that by all rights shouldn’t be here, you will smell something delicious and familiar drifting by on the breeze. You will think it might be apple pie or perhaps gumbo or happiness, if happiness could have a smell. You will wonder if you should call your mother and apologize for what you said the last time you spoke.

Then you will get out of your car and shut the door quietly, knowing as if by instinct that there is no need to be obnoxiously loud in this place. You will look at the Stand, which is like no roadside stand you have ever seen: it is pretty as a picture, painted white with a porch shaded by a long, overhanging roof that you can imagine standing under as summer thunder rolls overhead.

You will look to your left and notice a small pond where men and women sit on benches, sharing cold beers and hard lemonade. One of them will point you out and laugh – good-naturedly, of course, a laugh that makes you want to stay.

You will walk over to the people by the pond and they will ask you: “First time at the Stand?”

“Yeah. You can tell?” you will say, because that is the truth and this is a place for the truth.

“You have that look,” one of the women will say, tipping her beer at you. “Like you’ve stepped into a fantasy world.”

You may blush and look away, and that may make them laugh all the more, like each of them has stood in your place.

Gossip will spread, eagerly distributed to the newcomer, and you will listen about the storekeepers. The bright blonde who can almost always be found behind the counter, regaling the customers with stories of her days as a gymnast or her newest recipe. She bubbles with jokes and smiles. She cooks the meats and the hot food, and there are few people on Earth she doesn’t get along with.

Her wife is seen more rarely, so it is a treat when she makes an appearance. She’s a beautiful woman but you must never diminish her to that, because she works as a researcher in the back rooms of the Stand and she may be up for a Nobel Prize in Medicine this year.

“A Nobel Prize?” You will ask, because this of all places does not seem to be one to house an acclaimed scientist.

“That’s the only time I’ve ever seen Harley moody,” an older woman will comment. “When Pam went off to Oxford for her PhD. She had a basket full of complaints from people after the jam ran out and before Dr. Ivy could get back to make more.” Everyone will nod sagely, and you will wonder what kinds of women these shopkeepers are. You will be impressed having never met them.

“If you ask me,” one of the older men will say (although you didn’t), “she should’ve won it years ago.”

“Dr. Ivy?” You will say.

Somebody will pipe up with: “that’s just a nickname! She’s Isley in all her publications. But she told me she likes Ivy just fine. Reminds her of plants. She’s a plant lady, that woman.”

Nods of assent will travel around the circle. Beers will clink. The trees will shiver in the wind like they are listening.

You will thank the people and enter the store, eager for your first glimpse of these two: Harley and Ivy. Names that sound like they should be said together. Always in concert, twin suns orbiting each other.

You may be lucky: they may both be behind the counter. If so, they will intertwine like they are working an elaborate dance, one grabbing the customer’s merchandise and packing it away in a reusable bag and the other tallying up the change due. They move as if they are in love, always brushing wrists and sending smiles each other’s way. Every so often, one will press a kiss to the other’s cheek.

You see the rings on the fingers and wonder how long they have been married; they act like newlyweds but seem as familiar with each other as if they’ve been together sixty years.

You study the store. It is a whimsical thing. A woman with raven black hair and red-painted lips wearing a sunny yellow dress sweeps in the corner. She glances up and smiles shyly at you, and you look away before you blush. You walk between rows of preserves and jams lined up along the shelves and notice that there are only a few jars of “Pam’s Famous Strawberry Jam” left. There is a note on the back of the jar that tells you what percentage of the profits goes to an organization supporting domestic abuse survivors. You grip the jar so tight your knuckles go white. You don’t let go.

You wander over to the wall of refrigerators. You notice a cured Tennessee ham and remember how much your husband would like that meat. You open the refrigerator door and the chill of its air washes over you as you reach down to pick up the ham.

You notice a wall near the front covered in photographs. As you near it, you see pictures of every shape and size pinned to the wall. They are all wedding photos. You find Harley and Pam together, Harley in a tux and Pam in a magnificent gown. Together, they look radiant. Their picture is pinned next to a photo of a woman with a pixie cut, her arm hooked around the waist of… you wonder if that is Bruce Wayne. You wonder if he knows these women. You would not be surprised.

You imagine your wedding day and how free you felt, like you were escaping the world. You think that day would make a prettier picture for the wall than everything that came after.

You go back to the row of jams and peruse. You check the backs of other jars. The profits of one, a huckleberry preserve (you didn’t even know huckleberries grew in this area) will go to benefit a group advocating for queer rights. Another (an orange marmalade that looks divine) will direct any funds it can towards the ACLU. You leave both on the shelf, thinking of the look on your husband’s face if he finds that you’ve spent too much without his leave. You don’t put back what you’ve already chosen.

You make your way to the counter and wait patiently behind an elderly woman who is prodding Pam for some fresh strawberries. “I know you have them, Dr. Ivy,” the woman says, wiggling her finger. “Don’t play this game with me. I’m old as balls.”

“That’s fuckin’ hilarious,” Harley says, and you are reminded that as much as you may not have expected them to be, these women are human. Pam gives the old lady a smile and goes to the back; when she returns, she is holding a soft carton of strawberries so plump and red that they make your mouth water just looking at them.

The old woman thanks her, pays the bill, and leaves. Harley presses a quick kiss to Pam’s lips before turning to you. You set your items on the counter. “Sorry for the PDA,” she says, though you can tell she isn’t sorry at all. Seeing them like this stirs something in you that has been dormant since your husband slipped his wedding ring on your finger.

Harley looks at your choices and smiles. “Tennessee ham and strawberry jam,” she says. “Don’t tell anyone,” she adds in a stage whisper, “but the ham is better.” She winks at you so dramatically that you laugh. Her wife rolls her eyes behind the counter.

“What’s your name, sugar?” Pam asks. You tell her. She nods as she sorts out your change, her fingers flashing through coins and bills behind the register. “We haven’t seen you here at the Stand before.”

“Never been before,” you say, and you wish you’d come here earlier.

You reach for your purchase and the edge of your sleeve creeps up. Harley’s eyes dart to your uncovered wrist, and you draw back instinctively, worried that she has seen.

Though her smile doesn’t harden, her eyes do. You reach for your purchases again and she sets her hand on yours, stopping you.

“You know,” she says quietly, “we didn’t hire Kiki. She came to us.” She tips her head towards the woman in the yellow dress, who has stopped sweeping and is now watching you all talk. Her eyes seem to pierce you, like she understands why you are wearing a long-sleeved blouse in the middle of the hottest summer on record.

You are quiet. Perhaps afraid. But not as afraid as you could be, when you are here in this wonderful place.

Pam tilts her head. “If you need a place to come to,” she says, “our doors are open. We can make room until you get on your feet. Give you a job, too.”

This should feel crazy, like a fairy tale, like something that could never happen, but instead, standing here, it just seems to you like a door has been opened. One you could never imagine existed.

You look to the woman in the corner. She smiles at you again, and this time you let yourself feel whatever it is you’re going to feel hopping around like jumping beans in your stomach. “Mmm,” you say, because you are not going to give an answer now. That would be irresponsible, to make a snap decision like that when you can think about your husband and the look on his face if you left. Because he still loves you; you know it.

“Take your time,” Harley says gently, and you grab the bag with your purchases and stumble out of the store with a barely-mumbled thank you.

You will get back into your car and sit for a moment, hands on the wheel to steady yourself. You will pull out of the driveway, waving goodbye to the people by the pond as you leave, and continue on your drive home. You will keep thinking the grove will disappear in your rearview mirror as you drive, and you will keep checking the bag in your passenger’s seat to see if the food has disappeared.

The food does not disappear. Your husband calls it the best he’s ever had. The tension always simmering between you abates. This is temporary. It is always temporary.

You think about the offer of the women at the Stand.

When you finally return and set up your cot – which will be in the corner of their room until they can get something better set up for you (their generosity astounds you) – you lie awake for most of the night.

Their breathing matches. Slow and steady. Harley snores. They are the sounds of comfort and trust and you imagine what it would be like not to lose any sleep at night. You imagine what they are dreaming about, arms and legs entangled under their white sheets. When they fell asleep, you remember, they were apart; they migrated towards each other in the night. You imagine that kind of love, so strong it takes precedence even when neither party is consciously aware of it.

You finally go out to sit on the back porch as it nears sunrise. You see beehives and a chicken coop; as you sit and simply exist, a rooster crows. The sky is painted in streaks of baby-pink and orange. You lean back and let your shoulders relax.

You think _finally, finally, finally_.

It is a new dawn.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all of you for the hits and kudos along the way, and a special thank you for all the heartfelt comments. I really gave my all to this story and I'm proud of it; I hope it shows. Much love, and keep dreaming.
> 
> -Selkie


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